


These days.

by Werepirechick



Series: These blood red eyes, don't see so good, but what's worse is if they could. [3]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Parenting, Domestic Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Escape, Family Drama, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Leaving Home, Post Season Four, Realization, Reconciliation, Running Away, Survivor Guilt, abuse recovery, eventually, i'm just making them face the music for once, no i don't hate the A-team
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2018-09-29 20:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 86,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10143311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werepirechick/pseuds/Werepirechick
Summary: There’s a night, sometime after their father is buried and their enemies defeated, when their home is too quiet and unspoken tension is rising and coiling and choking at everyone- Donnie knows.He knows he has to leave.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by both my utter salt for the current brother-brother dynamics in canon, and the song These Days by the Black Keys.
> 
> I have a lot of emotions over the B-team and their treatment, and I wanted to give them a fic that could fix that. I'll try to have a couple more chapters up before the next season, because at that point this will lapse in an AU, and not a wistful theory.
> 
> Sort of a continuation from the previous fic Mute, but can be read as a standalone. I connected the two though because of their similar content, and thought some folks might want to read the prior one.

 

 

There’s a night, sometime after their father is buried and their enemies defeated, when their home is too quiet and unspoken tension is rising and coiling and choking at everyone- Donnie knows.

He knows he has to leave.

It comes, after another night, a different night. One that’d had another realization, and another quiet, insidious feeling upheaval.

On that night, he wakes up, starts to head to his lab on automatic, even though there’s little reason to anymore- and Leo stops him. Leo asks Donnie, and their other siblings, to meet him in the dojo. Saying that it’s time they had a family meeting, broken as their family is.

There’s a tone in Leo’s voice that Donnie hasn’t encountered before. It’s new, and he doesn’t know why it unsettles him.

Donnie isn’t sure what he’s expecting, kneeling on the dojo floor, like he has for years and years, waiting for Leo to address them. Whatever he might have expected, it’s not what Leo has to say.

Leo kneels in front of Donnie, in front of all of them, instead of with them. Setting himself apart. Donnie watches him, confused by the change.

“Sensei- _Splinter,”_ Leo says, correcting himself for some reason, and that’s when alarms start going off in Donnie’s head. “Splinter gave me a final message, the night he… died. A few hours before.”

Donnie sees Raph and Mikey beside him shift, sitting up straighter. None of them had known about that, and it’s been days since their father’s passing. Donnie wants to ask _“Why didn’t he leave one with us too?”_ , but he can’t before Leo continues.

“He told me that he knew his time was short,” Leo says, hands on his knees and completely serious. “He knew that he was going to die, and he told me that I’d have to take his place. I was chosen to be our leader because he knew that it would be me, all along. Not for skill or for training- but because that’s who I was meant to be. A leader to all of us. He told me I was to take up the mantle as both a master and a father to our family, and I intend to.”

Donnie feels his stomach drop, and his eyes go wide.

“From now on,” Leo says, continuing despite the shocked noises Raph and Mikey are making. “I’ll be our Sensei, and I’ll expect your respect for that position. It was our father’s dying wish, and I’ll see that I carry it out.”

Donnie swallows thickly, and he can’t speak.

He shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t feel dread at the idea that his eldest brother holds all the power in their home, but he can’t _not_ feel it. And he doesn’t know why.

Donnie’s vision blurs, and he misses what happens next. He doesn’t come back until after, when Leo and Raph have gone to train, to _“-test out whether or not you really can call yourself my Sensei.”_ as Raph puts it. Mikey slinks away, and Donnie almost misses his brother’s retreat; utterly silent, and the complete opposite of his usual self.

Donnie is left alone, unsure of why he’s feeling so upset, so _viscerally_ _upset_ , about everything.

He takes five deep breaths, and then hides.

Hides in his lab, doors locked shut and his stereo turned up high enough he could feasibly miss someone knocking.

He sits at a lab table, empty of any projects, and stares at his hands. He stares and stares and for once doesn’t know what to think.

His father had known he was going to die, somehow, and he hadn’t told anyone except Leo. Only Leo. No messages or goodbyes to any of the rest of them. Splinter hadn’t bothered to. Or worse, hadn’t thought to at all.

Donnie feels lost, and in a private second all to himself- he admits that he’s also scared.

He’s scared and he doesn’t know why.

He avoids Leo’s eyes, Raph’s eyes, even Mikey’s- when he emerges from his lab, much later in the night. One or all of his brothers tries to talk to him, but it all sounds staticky to Donnie. He replies vague niceties, and gets by without really knowing what’s going on.

He’s in shock; he knows that on the edge of his mind. He’s in shock and he thinks it’s for multiple reasons. Because of his father, dying, dead, because of his brother, newly empowered and smiling and for some reason that makes Donnie nervous as anything, because they suddenly don’t have any goals anymore, no Shredder no aliens no _anything_ -

Donnie avoids the eyes of his family, and keeps to himself.

 

 

 

The night Donnie Knows comes soon after. After he’s spent days thinking and drifting and feeling unsure and nervous about everything. After Leo looks him in the eye, and Donnie can _see it._

He sees that Leo fully expects to have control of their home. Of their family. Of Donnie.

Donnie thinks back to months ago, before space and before losing New York and before the first invasion. Before the coma. Before this Leo had become the _only_ Leo.

It started then, and Donnie pretended not to see.

It’s here now, the look in Leo’s eyes. The piece that’s so obviously missing. The piece that Leo lost while he recovered from near death, and then never got back.

 _It’s just trauma,_ he’d told himself over and over, _it’s just something he has to work past. Things will be normal later. It’s my fault anyways, I’ll just give him space until he’s better, we can talk about it after…_

Things hadn’t gone back to normal, and how things were had become the _new_ normal.

Donnie blames himself, and he’s scared.

Donnie sees this, thinks this, and feels this all at once- seeing the look in Leo’s eyes, as he tells Donnie it’s time for training. That it’s time for their first session together with him in charge.

Donnie can only mutely nod, and follow along.

He thinks- after the training session, after listening to Leo’s commands for hours and having to follow each one- he thinks to himself, _I can’t do this._ _I just can’t._

It’s strangling, the atmosphere of his home. He can’t look his brothers- his _older_ brothers- in the eyes, and not feel apprehension. He can’t listen to what they’re saying, and not feeling like their words are deafening him. Just the one training session leaves him hollow and tired.

He can’t live like this, and he hates himself for having that thought.

And besides- what other way is there? There’s only his family, there has only ever _been his family._ There’s nothing else for him, other than to keep building for his brothers, keep protecting them from whatever comes their way with intent to harm. Keep listening to his father.

But is there even that anymore? There’s none of that left.

No enemies. No wars. No Sensei.

Donnie feels lost at what to do, and he feels hateful of that fact.

Even more so, he hates the thought that follows _I can’t live like this,_ because it whispers _what if I just leave?_ And Donnie _cannot do that._

He has a duty. A duty to his family and his clan. To his brothers. He owes them his care and his protection and his efforts. He can’t just _leave._

Can he?

Donnie, looking in the eyes of his brother, his eldest brother, who is smiling and proud despite their father’s death, smiling despite the sheer _pointlessness_ of everything they do- and he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he actually can.

 

 

 

_What if I just leave?_

The question haunts him for hours after, following Donnie as he moves listlessly through maintenance of their vehicles. His vehicles. The ones he built almost entirely by himself, but everyone uses. He’s not sure if they ever thanked him for that.

Donnie, wavering and hateful of that wavering, quietly asks himself where he would even _go_ if he left. He can’t just pack up and drive away without a plan. He has nowhere to go that would be safe.

 _What if I found somewhere?_ Is his answer to that. And what if he did? What then?

Could he really do it?

Rambunctious voices coming down the tunnels interrupt his thinking, and Donnie has to scramble out of the engine block for the Party Wagon to look at the sources.

Leo and Raph and Mikey- all of them sidle into Donnie’s- into _their_ garage space. Leo grins at Donnie, and holds up a hand, swinging the spare set of keys they have for the Shellraiser. “Hey Donnie, we’re going out to meet up with Karai and Shinigami. Hope you don’t mind it, but we’re taking the Shellraiser and the stealth-bike.”

Donnie takes a second to respond, and in that second his brothers are already clambering into the vehicles. “I- no, the repairs aren’t done yet, and if we push specific parts much harder I’ll have to replace them entirely-”

“So then replace ‘em,” Raph says flippantly, sliding into the stealth-bike and starting it up. “It’s not a big deal if one or two gears gotta get replaced later, right?”

“No- you don’t get it, those parts were hard to get as it was and I don’t want to have to replace them so soon-” Donnie tries to at least catch Leo, because he knows the Shellraiser needs its pipes cleaned and checked for cracks, even more than their bike. “Leo, please- if you guys could just wait another hour, I promise I’ll have them done, I _swear-”_

“Nope! Can’t keep the girls waiting,” Leo says, shutting the sliding doors right in Donnie’s face. From inside, Donnie hears a muffled, _“I’m sure if anything breaks, you can fix it easy later on! You’re good at that kind of thing, Donnie. Trust yourself a bit!”_

The stealth-bike goes roaring past Donnie from behind, and he has to dodge backwards as the Shellraiser rumbles to life as well. He can’t do anything to stop it as it leaves, and then his brothers are gone, taking with them _his inventions,_ and not paying him any mind about their condition.

Donnie can’t even muster enough energy to yell in frustration, because he feels drained by just how _normal_ this all is.

They didn’t even bother to invite him along, let alone ask for use of his vehicles.

Donnie stands alone in _his_ garage- not theirs, they never do anything useful in it, nothing to deserve calling it theirs- and repeats the question to himself _could I leave?_

He finds himself saying, _I just might._

 

 

 

He can’t just runaway. He can’t just disappear with nothing but his bo staff on his shell, escaping into the wilds of New York with nowhere to go. He needs a plan.

Donnie is an expert at plans, though his brothers rarely listen to them. So he starts searching.

He goes out, not a word to anybody- because who’s to care if he’s out past their designated roaming hours? Who’s to attack him when there’s nothing left but thugs and regular human gangs in New York? He has no father and he has no arch enemy- so Donnie searches.

He follows maps he searches up, scouting locations underneath the cement ground above. He’s searching for somewhere with ideal conditions, somewhere he can modify and shape as he wants. Somewhere he’d be safe.

He briefly considers asking to stay with Karai and her clan- but he banishes the idea even faster than he’d thought of it. Karai can’t be trusted, for all the work she’s done to earn their trust. She doesn’t have Donnie’s, not about this. She’s too close to Leo, too likely tell. And the Mutanimals, maybe they would let him stay, but Donnie doesn’t feel it would work. His brothers would find him too quickly, too easily, there wouldn’t be any point.

So Donnie embarks alone, with a flashlight and multiple maps, and looks for somewhere to- live? Hide? Escape to? Maybe a combination of the three.

Donnie has to stop, over and over, and laugh at how ludicrous this is. Who is he running from? His brothers? He- he shouldn’t be, he loves them and they love him. He’s supposed to stay with them for the whole of their lives, because they’re all they’ve got now. All they’ve ever really had.

But then Donnie remembers the slow strangling feeling of being in his own home, speaking to his own family, and staring at the picture of his now deceased father- and he keeps searching.

He’s supposed to want to stay with his brothers, and he feels like shit for not.

He finds a place, a ways away from his home and his familiar territory. It’s sizable, and close to a power grid, and not too far from a couple junkyards. It’s perfect, despite the dust and the crumbling stone.

It’s another abandoned subway station, though considerably smaller than the lair. It’s not made for a whole family.

Donnie supposes, it’s a good thing he’s not bringing his whole family.

 

 

 

Donnie has a place in mind, a goal of moving into it, and now all he has to do is… actually accomplish moving into it.

He needs to make it livable first. Hook it back into power connectors, and then set up the plumbing again, and then add additional stabilizations to the one pillar on the far left side…

He’s got a lot of work to do, but he’s used to the work load. He’s done all that and more before, and sometimes on a tighter schedule.

He sneaks out, night after night, preparing his escape. He takes with him tools and supplies, using the Party Wagon to transport everything. Its slow going, the amount of stealth he has to use to get in and out of his home, but it’s worth it. It’s worth it to see the steady improvements to the small station, and feel like he’s actually accomplishing something. Like he can breathe again, thanks to his secret success.

Until, he goes home one night, late, and all the air whooshes out of his lungs, as Leo storms into the garage with an angry expression.

Donnie doesn’t want to get out of the car, but he has to. It’ll only be worse if he doesn’t just get it over with right now.

“Where have you been?” Leo demands immediately, before Donnie even shuts the door. “I called you _ten times_ , and I got no answer. I was _worried about you.”_

“I was out scavenging,” Donnie replies smoothly, riding out the fury in his brother’s voice. “I needed parts to fix the Shellraiser’s shocks, and I needed time to search for them.”

“Why was your phone off? You _know_ you aren’t supposed to turn it off,” Leo says, still mad, still glaring at Donnie.

Donnie lets it flow over him, not bothering to let it touch him now, not in this tense, horrid moment. He lies again, “I turned off it to charge it earlier, and forgot to turn it on again. Honest mistake. I’m sorry.”

“You missed training, _again,”_ Leo snaps, seeming to pick a new topic to be upset about.

“It’s just one night, and I thought you’d prefer to have a working car rather than me showing up for class.”

Donnie crosses the line with that one, and Leo’s hissed words, _“I am your Sensei and you_ will not _disregard me like this”,_ speak that quite clearly. Leo glares at Donnie, waiting, watching. “Are we clear on this? No more skipping sessions. At all. We will work _as a team,_ and I won’t have you undermining us like this. Do you understand me?”

 He sounds like their father did, and Donnie can’t tell if his brother has done this on purpose or by accident. The effect is the same though, if worse.

Donnie swallows, and nods. Leo takes this as being enough of a response, and leaves Donnie in the garage. Alone again, having watched his brother- his _Sensei_ , stalk away, still in a huff, Donnie balls his fists and bites his tongue _hard._

 

 

 

He keeps going out. He keeps fixing up the small station he’s found, and he keeps building his quiet hope.

 _I wouldn’t be gone forever,_ he tells himself, as he finishes bolting a steel support into place. _Just until we’ve all calmed down. Just until we’ve figured things out again. Just enough time for us all to get some space from one another and think. Just, just, just…_

He wavers though, even after he tries to cement his resolve to leave, just for a little while. He wavers and thinks _maybe I’m being too hard on them, maybe I’m being overdramatic, maybe I should just give this up and try harder…_

But then Leo and Raph will say something, or do something, or demand that _Donnie_ do something or say something- and Donnie will remember why he’s doing this. Why he’s leaving.

He can’t live like this. He can’t live with his two older brothers, especially his eldest brother, breathing down his neck. The two of them trying and obviously failing to figure things out, now that their father is suddenly gone, and using Donnie and Mikey as footholds to do so. Donnie wants to be able to handle that, but he can’t. He just can’t. Not anymore.

Donnie finishes as much as he can in his hiding place, and figures its time he start moving things into it.

Like the other outings, he has to time it right. His brothers- they never pay attention to what goes in or out of his lab, not unless it explodes or it’s something they can steal to play with. Donnie just has to time it right, so the latter doesn’t happen.

He plans around his brothers’ outings, which are frequent and long. Spent with Karai and Shinigami and Casey, running around the city doing something or other. Donnie doesn’t know most of the time, and they don’t seem inclined to inform him. He doesn’t feel upset that they don’t so much as he’s resigned to that fact.

Donnie has begun to realize that he’s resigned to a lot of things, and wonders when that happened to him.

He starts moving out his big pieces of equipment about a week after finishing the station. He can’t take everything, much as he wishes, but he can take most of it. One by one he can move the biggest and most delicate pieces in the Shellraiser, whenever his brothers aren’t using it.

In his efforts to avoid detection from the two elder siblings- Donnie forgets his one younger.

Mikey is suddenly there one evening, when Donnie is struggling to fit an awkwardly shaped bit of equipment into the train car. Donnie stops dead, and feels gripping horror slide around his neck.

Mikey stares at him, and Donnie, hands shaking, stares back.

“You’re leaving,” Mikey says, not asks. Donnie starts to reply, something about just needing to toss this machine out, get a new one, but Mikey cuts him off with, “And don’t lie to me. You’ve been doing this for weeks. You’re leaving, and not just to throw something away.”

Donnie sags, and he feels the horror turn into resignation. That’s it then, it was a nice dream while it lasted. “Yeah. I am.”

“Were you even going to tell me?” Mikey asks.

“I… I don’t know,” Donnie says honestly.

“Well, why not?” Mikey asks, accuses. “You were just going to fuck off without saying _anything?”_

“I don’t know!” Donnie exclaims, his panic suddenly flooding in to cover his resignation. “I didn’t- I didn’t know if you’d tell, okay? I didn’t know if- if I could _trust you!"_

Mikey looks like he’s been punched by Donnie’s words, and Donnie feels the same. Worse, maybe, because they’re true.

“I… I couldn’t predict how you’d react,” Donnie says, shoulder slumping again. “I couldn’t… Mikey, I… I’m sorry. I have to leave. I can’t stay here anymore. Not- not with how things are.”

Mikey looks down at the floor, and his shoulders hunch up. “Yeah. Well. Maybe I’m not exactly happy here either, ever think about that?”

“I didn’t…” Donnie can’t finish that sentence, because he did.

He sees it with Mikey too. The sullen quietness, covered almost entirely by the overreaching cheer. The way that their brothers push him around, push him down. The way Raph has gotten more physical lately, and has for a long time, with shoves and punches that land just a bit too hard. And every single time Mikey’s opinion on something comes up, he’s talked over. Ignored.

And Donnie does it too, mimicking their brothers that way, just like Mikey comes into his lab with their brothers, comes into the garage and takes and takes and breaks his things.

Neither of them is happy, and Donnie’s been selfish. More than just because he’s leaving- because he was leaving without Mikey.

“I’m sorry,” Donnie says, tired and worn out. He doesn’t know what will happen next, if Mikey will be furious and tell what Donnie has been trying to do, so all he can say is _-“I’m sorry.”_

Mikey is silent for a long moment, and then he says, “I wouldn’t’ve told, you know. If you told me you were going. They would’ve asked me, and probably made me tell them that you’d gone- but I wouldn’t tell them where you went. Promise. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“…thank you,” Donnie says quietly, thickly, feeling undeserving. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I was just… scared. I didn’t know if I could trust anyone except… me.”

Mikey shrugs, and then both of them stand in awkward silence. It’s tense, but not like it is with their brothers. The tension is different.

Mikey breaks it, when he quietly, so frighteningly quiet for him, asks in a soft, desperate tone- “Can I come with you?”

Something old and scarred in Donnie breaks a little harder at that, and he nods jerkily, eyes stinging for reasons he won’t say. “Yes. Yes, of course you can.”

 

 

 

The first time Donnie shows Mikey the hidden station, far enough from the lair that they don’t seem close to it at all anymore, his brother’s face lights up and he smiles for real, maybe for the first time in weeks. It’s a good sight to see.

There was plenty of space for one mutant turtle before, and there’s still plenty of space for another. There’s space for a living room and a kitchen and separate bedrooms… a lab and an exercise room and an infirmary… there might even be space for experiments Donnie could never do at home.

The tunnel leading in is large enough to park the Shellraiser in, and that’s probably the one Donnie will have them take. It’s defensible, and good for running away in. They could and have driven through complete battle zones before, and come out with only minor issues to repair afterwards. Donnie has faith that it could protect him, should he ever have to evacuate his hiding place, and now he has faith that it could protect Mikey too.

Donnie hates that he hadn’t implicitly trusted Mikey, right from the start. That he hadn’t been able to look at his single younger brother and say _“Come with me”_ without hesitation.

But he hadn’t been able to, and hasn’t been able to for a long time. And maybe he’s not alone in that, because Mikey quietly lets slip about things that bother him, while they move equipment and furniture around the station. He lets slip moments that he still thinks about that Donnie has never even heard of.

Mostly it’s about things they had no control over. Losing battles, losing friends. Sometimes it’s about their brothers, things they’ve said and done. Once, it’s about their dad, and how Mikey doesn’t understand why he didn’t say goodbye.

Donnie doesn’t have an explanation for the last thought, and they both let it pass in heavy silence.

There’s still a lot to be done, beyond what Donnie accomplished on his own. Furniture, appliances, painting… lots of work, and Mikey seems willing.

It’s less lonely, scavenging for lights and tables and couches, when he’s got a companion. Mikey picks the couch, an ancient and plush blue thing, and Donnie chooses the dark wooden coffee table to go with it. They both pick the lights; multiple shapes but all the in same green, and put it all together with a thick rug on the floor underneath it all.

They get a TV, a big one, and Donnie fixes it so it’ll get every channel this side of the hemisphere. The fill the kitchen with mismatched plates and pans, and Mikey has final say on the wares they select. Donnie’s lab is set up over time, and when he’s done, he loves it despite the decrease in space. He chooses to think of it as compact, since he wasted much of his original lab’s space anyways.

Eventually- only weeks later, even if it felt like painstaking years- they’re done, and it’s time to leave. For real.

Donnie’s lab is stripped of what he can take with him, all the essentials already long moved to their new location. It’s only got the bare bones now, in his eyes at least. His brothers haven’t noticed at all.

That leaves his room, also stripped of its essentials. There’s only day to day things left, and the most noticeable and iconic things. Donnie goes to sleep with the morning, staring at his assembled collection of weapons and possessions in the corner. It’s time, and he’s still not sure.

But, he’s sure of one thing though. If he doesn’t go now, then he never will, and the strangling sensation around his throat will worsen. He has to leave tonight, or else he doesn’t know what will happen.

He sleeps fitfully, exhaustively, and wakes hours before Leo and Raph will. He dresses shortly, cinching his belt and mask into place without emotion. His cases of throwing stars and books and last remaining computer make no sound as he picks them up, and neither does his bo staff as he slides it into its familiar loop on his shell.

As he exits his room, he sees Mikey doing the same, and they meet eyes. Mikey has Ice-dream kitty in her cooler already, and his duffle of miscellaneous items. With his nunchucks in their holsters, he’s ready to go, both in literal and emotional sense. Donnie can see it in his eyes.

There’s no words spoken as they go, leaving the silent halls of their long-time home. Donnie and Mikey both spare a glance over their shoulder at it, and Donnie feels a great swell of emotion.

This has been their home nearly all their lives. Where they grew up and learned to be who they are. Where their father lived.

Its empty feeling now, and haunted by spectres that no longer exist. It feels cold and sucked dry of everything Donnie once loved about it.

He turns away from it, from his still sleeping older brothers, and doesn’t look back.

 

 

 

The drive is tense and silent. The only sound is IC kitty’s soft mewls, her attempts to comfort Mikey’s obviously maelstrom emotions.

For once, Mikey doesn’t return the coos with his own, and sits quietly in the passenger seat. As Donnie drives them another block from the lair, kitty finally gives up, and settles for purring worriedly in her cooler.

Donnie pretends he doesn’t hear Mikey’s near inaudible sniffle, and pretends it doesn’t nearly drag his own emotions to the surface.

He shifts the Shellraiser’s gears, and drives a bit faster.

It feels like it’s not real, pulling into the station’s tunnel. It feels like they should be just here for more repairs, not to actually stay.

Donnie moves in a daze to put his things away, trying to distract his mind from his emotions as he painstakingly ensures that everything goes to its new home. He doesn’t leave his new bedroom until he’s done, and it’s a hard thing to leave his bo staff by the wall. He shouldn’t, but he feels like they’re waiting for an attack now. For the backlash of their actions.

Donnie drifts back into the living room, warmly lit by the lights he and Mikey had spent so much time finding. His brother is already on the couch, knees to his chest and kitty on the coffee table in her favorite bowl.

Donnie sits down on the other end, slumping back against the cushions breathlessly. He takes one, shuddering inhale, and runs a hand over his skull. “I can’t believe it,” He says shakily. “We actually did it.”

It’d been nice to talk about in theory, fun, if a bit nerve wracking, to set it up- but this is real. This is real and they can’t take it back anymore. They did it. They left.

Donnie doesn’t know how to feel at all.

“So… what do we do now?” Mikey asks quietly, mostly addressing his knees.

Donnie shakes his head, swimming in disbelief still. “I- I don’t know. Eat breakfast maybe?”

He suggests it, even though he feels sick instead of hungry. Mikey seems to accept it as a task though, and gets up to wander into the kitchen in the next room over. Soon enough, he comes back with microwavable cups of instant oatmeal, and sets them on the table.

He pushes one in Donnie’s direction, and Donnie accepts it gratefully. He picks it up, mindful of the spoon stuck into it, and starts stirring the hot oats around.

It doesn’t take long for their brothers to start calling them, texting them. Donnie’s phone rings again and again, and he sets it on the table to stare at it. Mikey does the same, and then they’re both staring at the t-phones on the coffee table beside kitty. They look like parodies of mini-turtles, minus legs and heads, as they vibrate and call out.

Donnie finally has the sense to reach out and mute them both, and then it’s silent again. Their oatmeal, both portions uneaten still, has long since gone cold and Donnie still doesn’t know what they’re supposed to do.

Mikey dares to check his phone’s messages, and from the way his expression flickers with emotions, they aren’t good. He sets his phone back down hastily, and pushes it so it skids across the table and away from him. Donnie doesn’t look at his, and he decides not to touch it at all.

Minutes- hours maybe- later, and Mikey asks in a rough voice, “Want to watch TV?”

There isn’t anything else for them to do, and the question covers up the one that’s been hanging in the air all evening. _Are we really doing the right thing?_

So Donnie nods, and grabs the remote off the table to turn on their salvaged television. It’s easier to not drown in anxious second guessing with it on, especially once Mikey steals the remote and starts surfing through channels without aim.

It’s not perfect, but it’s enough for now, and Donnie settles into the musty old couch to just… let go.

After weeks of constant stress and activity, it feels unfamiliar. Maybe even before that it would’ve. Donnie can’t actually recall the last time he sat down and just did _nothing._

His eyes burn, and everything catches up with him all at once, and Donnie wipes his eyes before Mikey can see. Not that it would matter, because Mikey has been wiping at his eyes all night.

An insidious whisper in Donnie’s mind says they’re making a mistake, that they’re abandoning their brothers and their duty- but Donnie can’t give a damn about that right now. He’s tired of always keeping to his duty, and he’s not going to let a voice in his head bully him into giving up everything they’ve worked for.

Donnie watches the television with Mikey for a long while, and tries not to think of anything at all.

 

 

 

 

It’s not perfect, but it’s better. Donnie can feel it when he wakes up the next evening, and doesn’t dread getting out of bed.

He gets up, and he takes his time doing so. There’s no early evening training to attend, no surly brothers to sidestep as he gets ready, and no life-saving projects he absolutely has to get done right that second. He can breathe again.

He wanders into his new kitchen, and finds Mikey making eggs on the stove. The toast pops in its toaster as Mikey turns around to face Donnie, and they both sort of stare at each other for a moment.

“Could you butter those?” Mikey asks, and Donnie nods. He can do that.

The coffee maker is already set up, and Donnie turns it on as he goes to butter the toast. Mikey finishes the eggs on the stove, and then brings them to the table. Donnie grabs a cup for when his coffee is finished, and follows.

They sit down on either side of their small table, and share a breakfast for the first time in a while. The coffee maker dings, and before Donnie can get up to fill his cup, Mikey snatches it out of his hands and does it for him.

Donnie blinks, and feels caught off-guard by the simple kindness.

“Thank you,” He says, genuine and odd emotion climbing up in him as he takes the cup. Mikey doesn’t seem to know what to do with the situation any more than Donnie does, so he shrugs and sits back down.

There’s silence following that, but it’s not tense silence. It’s amicable, and Donnie can’t recall when he last had that.

 

 

 

Somewhere across the city, their brothers wake up for the second time without their younger siblings, and Donnie and Mikey are too far away to know what reactions that causes.

 

 

 

Donnie swings back and forth between waiting for the other shoe to drop, and actually being able to believe that this is happening. That they actually got out.

Their new home isn’t home, but it also is. It is because they _made it_ their home. They built it, piece by piece, and made it into something they could live in.

They both have space to themselves, and where they crossover with one another, it’s not terrible. There’s relearning happening, and Donnie can see it properly now. How they both forgot how to interact with each other without their brothers involved, or maybe that they’d never known at all.

Sometimes, Donnie finds himself saying something snide or spiteful, and sees how it makes Mikey’s shoulders hunch. Sometimes, when Donnie reaches out to grab something close to Mikey, or moves his arms too fast, his brother will tense up and close his eyes. Waiting for a blow. It hurts Donnie probably just as much as it hurts Mikey, dealing with the following moments after those interactions. The regret from them both.

Mikey isn’t perfect either. He crosses the line multiple times with Donnie’s things, and breaks two precious beakers in the first few days. He belittles Donnie’s work once, scoffing at Donnie’s ideas to farm a tiny renewable hybrid vegetable patch, and obviously regrets the way Donnie shuts down afterwards. Donnie doesn’t do it on purpose, the way he shuts everything down like that, but he does, and Mikey tells him he’s sorry.

Donnie returns the sentiment, about getting into Mikey’s personal space, and for the hurtful words that slip out without his say.

It’s a work in progress, but they’re working hard on it.

Donnie’s phone continues to pile up with phone calls and texts from their friends and family, and he ignores them all. He doesn’t want anyone to know about this yet, not while it’s still new, still becoming real.

He reads the texts though, listens to the voice messages, if only because he still feels guilty. Guilty for not being strong enough to bear everything he needed to, and for running away. He listens to them and reads them in case they’re distress calls. In case his brothers really need them.

If they’re hurt, if they’re in a fight- Donnie will go to them. He won’t even hesitate. He might have run, and taken Mikey with him, but he won’t abandon them fully. Family is still family, no matter what.

They’re all they have anymore, and Donnie doesn’t think he could bear to lose his big brothers too, hard as it is to deal with them right now.

So Donnie keeps an ear open, tries to remember how to interact kindly with his little brother, and attempts to believe his reality.

He thinks, about the second week into their escape, as he enters the living room and Mikey doesn’t jump and instead smiles at Donnie, he thinks that he might be able to believe it just a little. For now at least, until they go home again.

But, for the time being, Donnie slides onto the couch, and pushes his anxious, guilty thoughts away, and watches bad cartoons with his brother.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell a kid enough times that he's stupid, useless, and a screw up- and he'll probably be just that. In his actions and mind both.

 

 

There’s a moment, watching for Donnie’s reaction, that Mikey’s scared his brother will say no. That he’ll refuse to let Mikey go with him, and instead will leave him alone in the lair, with just their brothers and a silent altar for company.

Mikey doesn’t want that. He really, really doesn’t want that. If Donnie disappears and leaves him then Mikey doesn’t know _what_ he’ll do.

He’s scared for an awful, drawn out moment- that Donnie will say no, and Mikey will get left behind. Trapped, because he’s not smart enough to form his own escape. He doesn’t know where he could go or how he could get there. This is his one chance, and Donnie holds it in his hands.

Then, Donnie says _“-of course you can.”_ and Mikey nearly drowns in relief.

He doesn’t know what he would have done if Donnie had said no. He doesn’t know if he could have accepted it quietly. He wouldn’t have told on Donnie, wouldn’t have given away Donnie’s escape-

But Mikey knows he wouldn’t have been happy either. He would have been scared, because whenever Donnie finally left… Mikey would be the only one left to face the evitable anger of their brothers.

Mikey buries that fear, smiles best he can in gratitude to his brother, and offers up any help he can give.

 

 

 

There’s something to falling. The split second between hitting the ground and the time it takes to get there. It’s an important part of learning ninjutsu; learning how to take a blow, roll with it, and come back up swinging.

Mikey feels like he’s got it down to an art, that he’s the undisputed master of falling down. He says that to himself as a comfort, as he takes a blow from Raph during training, and takes only a split second to get back on his feet. Stars in his eyes don’t bother him, because Mikey has fought with worse in his way.

He feels Leo’s eyes on him, Donnie’s too, as he and Raph keep sparring. They’re both watching him- or maybe they’re just waiting for Raph to wipe the floor with him already.

It’s hand to hand combat night. A special training session, for when they lose their weapons in battle. They’ve done it lots of times before, just… not with Leo in charge.

Hand to hand combat night is always Raph’s favorite. Always. And Mikey always gets paired up with him. Always.

Maybe it’s because of how well he can roll with things, since Leo and Raph would just get into competition, and Donnie would give up less than a minute in.

Mikey raises to block too late, and his jaw aches from the impact. He lists to the side, and a solid force against his chest knocks out both his breath and his legs. Mikey falls down, and skids across the floor. He takes it like a champ though, only momentarily struggling to breathe right.

Leo calls the match, and Raph is declared the obvious winner. Mikey raises himself back off the ground, shaking off the worst of his fall, and answers Leo’s quick question if he’s alright.

He’s fine. It’s just one fall, just a few hits. He’s totally fine!

Mikey gives a winning smile, despite being the loser, and ignores his bruised chin. He ignores Raph’s scoff at how badly he’d lost, and he ignores Leo’s reminder that they’re going to have to work even harder on Mikey’s training.

He doesn’t have to ignore Donnie, because Donnie is already doing just that to Mikey. Donnie’s eyes might’ve been following the whole fight, but glancing at them now, Mikey can see Donnie probably hasn’t really seen anything for the last while.

Mikey dusts himself off, and obeys his new Sensei’s commands for another spar round, this time against Donnie. “ _Because that way you’ll be evenly matched_ ,” Leo reasons, and Mikey pretends very hard that the words don’t sound condescending.

Mikey smiles, agrees, and playfully exclaims that this time it’ll be different, that _he’s_ the one who’s going to beat his opponent. He adds a laugh or two, and pretends he doesn’t hear the slight mocking tone to Raph’s joining laughter.

Mikey’s the best at falling, though he falls considerably less when he’s sparring with Donnie. As he slides his feet into position, raising his arms and ignoring where they hurt from Raph’s fists, Mikey doesn’t feel nervous facing down his closest sibling. Dealing with Donnie, he rarely does.

Donnie doesn’t seem like he’s feeling much of anything on the surface, and Mikey isn’t sure if this makes it easier or harder.

Leo’s call to start the fight comes, and Mikey charges in.

Afterwards, Mikey trails after his elder siblings, and doesn’t look at how Donnie doesn’t look at any of them, and he smiles and smiles and smiles and ignores how everything hurts.

 

 

 

Mikey is glad at least, that that was the last one. The last spar session he had to endure, and the last time he had to pretend so fiercely. For now.

They have to go back. Eventually. Some time. But not now. Not yet.

Mikey holds both those things close to his chest, and ignores how confusing everything feels.

He’s good at that. Ignoring things. Not thinking about the things he’s ignoring. He can do it so well that whole hours will pass by without him thinking about a single thing!

If he does it well enough these days, it’s like his father never died.

Mikey does this in his new home, the new lair- no, the _station_. He’s calling it the station, and he knows that Donnie has been too. It’s theirs, not the lair. It doesn’t have to be like their old home unless they want it to be.

Mikey doesn’t know if he wants it to be like home or not. He admits to himself that yeah, he wants to bring back how things used to be. Like, _really_ how they used to be. When they were kids and their dad was alive.

Mikey misses being a kid, much as his brothers call him childish as it is. He misses being a real kid. A real kid who got to pretend fun things, like being an astronaut or a fireman, and not that his shoulders and arms didn’t hurt. That his laughter was real even when it really, really isn’t, way too often.

Mikey misses his dad. He misses his home. He misses not feeling scared.

He ignores all of that, and ignores the creeping feelings of none of this being real, and focuses on mindless stuff. Things that get his thoughts to turn into fun ones instead of gloomy ones. He binges movies and monkeys with his action figures and kitty and tries to not think about what his brothers must be doing right then.

 _WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU TWO?!?!?_ – that’s the latest message from Raph. One of ten others with similar wordings, some with different meanings. Sometimes they’re threats about if they’re not somewhere in danger, how Raph will make them regret making him worry like he is. Sometimes they’re pleads for them to just answer one text at least, to let them know that they’re really alright.

Mikey doesn’t answer any of the texts, doesn’t answer any of the calls, and he can’t figure out why he doesn’t just turn his phone off completely.

It’s been five days. Five whole days, and Mikey is maybe going a bit stir crazy from cooping himself up inside all the time.

Donnie… isn’t always all there, locked up in his new lab like he is. And when he emerges, it’s a flip between what Donnie Mikey will get. Sometimes it’s the anxious one, sometimes it’s the blank one. On occasion, it’s the one who will smile, and ask what Mikey wants to make for dinner that night.

Mikey doesn’t really know how to deal with any of those Donnie’s, much as he likes the last one. He hadn’t been required to deal with Donnie except for the bare minimum at home. They’d kept to their individual lanes, crossing over only when their brothers brought them all together.

Mikey doesn’t know what to do, really, with all the time they have together now. So he lapses into habit, and tries to work with what he knows.

Mistake. Big mistake.

Donnie is talking, fast and excited, and Mikey is halfway into his head already. Everything is going above Mikey’s area of knowledge, and he’s completely lost as Donnie prattles on about tubers and spores and nutrient soil levels, and before he knows it-

“Why are you even doing this?” He says, disinterested and bored. “We got lots of food. We don’t need some stupid garden. All it sounds like is a bunch more work for us. Can’t we just watch TV or somethin’ instead?”

And Donnie stops short, and Mikey sees the enthusiasm recede. Gone, slipped under the cover Donnie always has. And Mikey immediately regrets opening his big stupid mouth at all.

“You’re right,” Donnie says, vagueness slipping into his voice. “You’re right. Why- why would we- no, we don’t. You’re right. Excuse me, I’ll just- go put away some things.”

Mikey sits up from his slouch on the sofa, reaching after Donnie as he starts to leave. “Dee, wait-”

“No, it’s fine, never mind, Mikey,” Donnie says, stepping out of Mikey’s range. “It’s fine. It was just an idea.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“-it doesn’t _matter_ , okay? Just let me-”

“-I’m sorry! I just- I didn’t get what you were on about, just let me try again, I didn’t mean to say-”

“-you did and it doesn’t matter so _let go of me-”_

“-I’m sorry!” Mikey exclaims, holding fast to Donnie’s hand, even as he tugs at it. _“I’m sorry!”_

Donnie stops tugging, but maybe that’s worse, because he’s not looking at Mikey at all anymore. He’s gone distant, and that’s probably- yeah, yeah that’s definitely worse.

“…I’m sorry,” Mikey says again, quieter. “I wasn’t paying attention and you lost me. I was just… my show was on and I couldn’t focus on both you and the TV…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Donnie says, even quieter than Mikey is speaking. “It was just an idea. Let go of me, Mikey.”

And Mikey let’s go, because he knows that Donnie dislikes that just as much as Mikey does. Being held against your will.

Donnie doesn’t say anything as he leaves, and the door to his lab shutting, locking audibly, sends an echo through their station.

Mikey stands still for that moment, hearing and regretting that Donnie is literally locking Mikey out again- and he kicks the coffee table a moment after. Angrily, directionless. Because he has literally nowhere else to aim it.

He grabs his skateboard and nunchaku from his room, and to escape the stifling tension he’s gone and made with Donnie, Mikey ventures outside their sanctuary for the first time in five days.

 

 

 

Mikey likes being loud. He likes being so loud that he can’t hear anything else except for himself. So loud that he feels like he could make the walls shake and the sewer tunnels fill with nothing but sound. Loud enough he can’t hear anything.

But he can also be quiet. So quiet, no one can hear him even existing. So silent and not there that he can come and go without anyone noticing until it’s too late, and then he’s gone. Sometimes, he can be so quiet that not even his dad had been able to find him.

Mikey skates and runs and leaps across the city roofs, silent and unseen. There’s no one left to hide from, but he hides anyways. In shadows and blind spots, making his way steadily to the one other place he knows he’s welcome, and more importantly, _safe_.

For however short a time he stays there, at least. Because where he’s going, he knows that his older brothers know of it, and Mikey can’t linger forever. Can’t risk it.

It’s a risk to go to the Mutanimal’s hideout, slipping in through the air ducts on the top of the warehouse. It’s a huge risk, because like Donnie had said when Mikey suggested going here, it’s a place their brothers know of and are welcome in.

Exampled by the fact that as Mikey slides into the rafters of the darkest corner, he hears two voices he’s been dreading hearing again so soon.

Mikey goes still, and wills himself to stop existing.

His heart thrums, fast and fearful, as he listens to the conversations below. No one can see him- he’s sure of that at least- but he can’t be too careful. Mikey can hide and fall and take hits better than any of them- but Leo and Raph are the A-team for a reason. They’re just better at what Mikey tries and often fails to do. They just are.

Which, as Mikey’s body locks up and turns him to stone, is why he isn’t budging another inch until he’s _sure_ they won’t sense his presence.

Mikey stays there in his rafter, not listening at all until his brothers leave. He doesn’t hear anything as he waits. Nothing at all. He doesn’t hear the frustrated tones or the half shouts, he doesn’t hear the desperation mixed with those shouts, and he doesn’t hear his name and Donnie’s thrown around with curses and pleads.

Mikey stays perfectly still, and hears absolutely nothing.

And he keeps holding still and hearing nothing until the voices die off, and he hears the bay-doors open to let a vehicle out. He doesn’t move for another few minutes, letting the actual inhabitants of the hideout trickle back into the main room. Hidden up in the rafters, Mikey watches as some of the only other mutants in the city return to their normal lives, now that his brothers are gone.

And Mikey knows that Dr. Rockwell knows, the second he notices Mikey’s mental presence, and doesn’t react as the ape man raises the alarm for an unknown intruder in their hideout.

Its cut short though, as Mikey drops from the ceiling, and lands with a soft thud in plain sight. The halfway raised weapons and defenses of the Mutanimals drop, and Mikey takes a quiet breath in.

“Hey guys!” He says cheerfully, grinning widely as he can. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

 

 

 

There’s an immediate tirade from Slash- but Mikey was expecting that, and neatly ignores every _“Do you realize how worried your brothers have been?”_ and _“How could you just leave Raphael and Leonardo like that?”_

Dr. Rockwell tries to step in, to reason with Mikey and draw out explanations as to why he and Donnie have been missing for days now- but Slash’s very Raph-like anger overrules him, and the ape is shut down. Mikey tries not to see something else there.

Mondo’s exclamations of confusion and concern are further ignored, along with Slash’s continued advancements with his mace in hand and more furious words about the state of Mikey’s siblings- by Leatherhead, stepping between the angry tortoise and Mikey.

“Michelangelo and Donatello would not have done this without reason,” Leatherhead’s growling but calm voice says. “If they’ve really made such a drastic move, then I will trust my friend to have an explanation behind it.”

Some of the twisting knots in Mikey’s chest unwind with those words, and his smile is less strained feeling with his big, dependable friend standing between him and everyone else. As Leatherhead turns to him with a prompting look, Mikey squares his courage enough to speak in his usual tones.

“It’s no big deal,” Mikey says, playing it off as nothing. It’s not but if he pretends hard enough- “We just needed some space is all! Really! I left a note and everything. Didn’t my bros get it yet?”

“…Leonardo did mention a note,” Dr. Rockwell says slowly. “But he didn’t explain the contents to us. Just that you and Donatello had vanished, and that they were in need of help to locate you.”

“Yeah, ha, um,” Mikey tries to find something to say to that that’ll sound normal and reasonable. “Don’t bother with that? We’re fine, just chillin’ in a new pad for a while. Not exactly close by but we’re not, like- _gone_ or nothin’. I swear! No need to go poking around for us anymore. We’ll come home on our own.”

“Michelangelo,” Leatherhead says, low and careful. “What is it that’s really going on?”

With a head on question like that, Mikey struggles to keep his smile and lax attitude. “Nothing! It’s just sibling stuff. It’s like, just normal whatever shit.”

“Your brothers don’t seem to share that opinion,” Slash growls, and the tone he uses is eerily, eerily close to Raph’s- enough that Mikey freezes up and can’t think right.

And his falter is enough, apparently, for Leatherhead to come to some conclusion on his own, and step towards Mikey. Mikey doesn’t step back, and he lets his enormous friend come to kneel in front of him. Large and gentle hands landing on his shoulder, each move so careful it feels like Leatherhead is treating Mikey like glass.

“Michelangelo,” Leatherhead says gently. “Will you tell me what’s really going on, if we do it in private?”

One person is easier to fool than four, so Mikey nods, and lets Leatherhead’s larger form block him from the rest of the Mutanimals.

 _“You will_ not _call his brothers.”_ \- is Leatherhead’s parting statement to his own team, own family, as he leads Mikey away. The deep, rolling growl in his voice seems to be enough to enforce the command on the other mutants, because Mikey hears Slash smash something as they leave, but no sign that they’re going to tell on him.

Leatherhead’s room is the same as when Mikey was last in it- candles everywhere on the sturdy low tables that can withstand Leatherhead’s use, thick blankets and huge overstuffed pillows everywhere else for easy sleeping on- and the television that he’d given his croc friend. One he’d… maybe stolen from Donnie…

The sight of the old black and white television momentarily kills Mikey’s forced momentum, but he recovers and pushes his spirits up again.

“You still got all the movies I gave you!” Mikey exclaims instead, bending by the ramshackle shelf full of VHS tapes. All of them classics, mostly romances, because Leatherhead might look big and mean but he is actually _such_ a squishy old man. Mikey sorts through them; scanning the titles for any he might be able to feign interest in at the moment. “We should totally have a movie marathon, we haven’t done that in _weeks,_ and we defs can’t let this sweet set up keep going to waste like it is, because if I had this in my room you’d never pull me off it, no way no how-”

“Michelangelo,” Leatherhead says, stopping Mikey’s ramble. “Why did you come here?”

Why _did_ Mikey come here? It definitely wasn’t to hide, because he’s totally set himself up for exposure. Donnie would be mad. _Should_ be mad. Because Mikey went off and screwed yet another thing up that he didn’t think through and doesn’t know how to fix.

“Michelangelo?” Leatherhead prompts again, and Mikey’s shoulders finally slump.

“I fucked up,” Mikey says quietly, and as he does, his friend’s huge arms encircle him, and pull him into a tight hug.

 

 

 

It doesn’t take much, once Leatherhead has pulled Mikey into a big pile of pillows and blankets, to get Mikey to spill the ashy tasting beans.

With Leatherhead’s big, solid form curled around Mikey, huge limbs and barrel chest, he feels a little-lot safer. Like he can say what’s on his mind for real and not have to worry about being in trouble for it. Because Leatherhead, to everyone else, is the worst thing you could ever meet in a dark alley. Mikey has never been scared of his friend- not even forever ago when they’d first met and LH had attacked everyone because _he_ was scared- and he thinks privately, that maybe because everyone else _is_ scared of his friend, it makes Mikey feel that much safer in his arms.

Mikey breathes in time with Leatherhead, and lets everything out.

He tells Leatherhead he screwed up with Donnie, even though his brother has done so much to make their new home a home and let Mikey into it too, even though he could have kept it to himself and left Mikey behind and alone and never looked back-

And he tells Leatherhead that they left because it’s bad at home, so, so bad. Strangling and terrifying because it feels normal but isn’t but it is and it’s only like that because it’s been that way for so long that Mikey isn’t even sure if he can go back from that anymore or if there ever even was a back to begin with, and he’s _sorry_ he ran away but he _had to_ and he can’t, he can’t he can’t he can’t go back to his brothers right now, he just _can’t-_

And he confesses in a harsh whisper that he’s _scared_ , he’s scared of what he’s done and he’s scared of how his brothers are reacting and he’s scared that Donnie won’t let him stay anymore because Mikey can’t filter can’t manage himself right and he’s sorry that he’s stupid and useless and he doesn’t _want to be_ but is-

And that Mikey didn’t mean to shut Donnie down he really didn’t, he just got lost and then bored and then frustrated because that always happens with Donnie, because Donnie talks too fast and complicated for Mikey to follow and makes him feel stupid and lost and he _hates it_ and doesn’t want to hate it but he does anyways-

And how Mikey is furious and tired and so unbelievably sad and hurt that his own dad, _his own dad,_ didn’t even want to say goodbye to him, just left a message with his brother about taking everything that was left of their Sensei and turning it into something else, no I love you’s or last words of care or even an actual _goodbye_ to anyone except _Leo-_

And and and-

And how Mikey is so, so tired of fighting, of being scared, of pushing everything down so he doesn’t feel like screaming even when he does. How he just wants to feel okay and not have spats with his brothers, have his home be one home and not two and not with only one feeling safe, and how he wants to be able to trust his big brothers with everything but can’t and how sad that makes him, and how he just… misses his dad, and his brothers, and how everything used to be. And how he’s sorry.

He’s so, so sorry, and he’s not even sure what about.

Mikey cries long and hard, wrapped up and concealed all the way by the one person, the _one person,_ he knows won’t judge him or hurt him in any way. He cries out every bit of stress and anxiety and regret until there’s nothing left but the hurt, and then he cries that out too.

Then his head finally goes quiet, and Mikey knows that there’s nothing left in there anymore to hide from or ignore. At least for a little while, for as long as he’s here and safe and far, far from the things that are weighing on him like lead chains.

His eyes are crusty and sting like crazy and he knows that he got his gross tears all over Leatherhead’s chest, but Mikey feels better for it. He feels alright, probably for the first time in a while.

“Thanks,” He whispers after a long time has passed, grateful down to his core that Leatherhead was here for him. His friend’s bone deep rumble is warm and familiar, and makes Mikey feel even better.

 

 

 

Leatherhead’s team stares at Mikey when they emerge, and the way Slash is glaring down at Mikey nearly brings all the stuff he’s just gotten rid of rushing back.

But, Leatherhead’s hand is on his shell, and his friend is speaking for him. Leatherhead his protecting him, now that he knows what’s fully going on. There’s a short, purposefully vague explanation from Leatherhead, and though it seems like Mondo doesn’t really catch what’s going on, the rest of the mutants in the room concede to leave Mikey and Donnie to themselves. This is between them and their brothers, not anyone else.

It’s a family matter, and while Mikey considers the Mutanimals to be something like his weird cousins, this isn’t something they’re meant to get involved in. The fact that Slash accepts this is a miracle, and maybe only sort of has to do with Leatherhead not so subtly threatening mutiny if he doesn’t back off.

“We’ll have to tell your brothers you were here, Michelangelo,” Leatherhead says regretfully, after everything is taken care of and Mikey is getting ready to leave. “But we won’t help them beyond that. I know you can’t tell me where you and Donatello are currently staying, but know that the Mutanimals won’t be searching for it any longer. I promise you that.”

“I know, thank you,” Mikey says, and he smiles genuinely for his friend. The umpteenth bear hug Leatherhead gives him after that is entirely welcome, and Mikey maybe lingers longer than he should in the secure embrace.

He reluctantly lets go, darting back into the night with his skateboard across his shell and his chucks in their holsters. He hears the doors to the Mutanimal’s hideout slam shut behind his exit, and he knows that he’s got only a few minutes before his brothers get the call from Slash.

Mikey runs, slipping right back into the silent shadows he’d used on the way there, and heads back to the station. He has one more thing to do before he can really feel alright, and he knows that it’s something he should have done probably fifty times over in just the last few months.

He enters through the one opening they have from the tunnels, the rest of the open exits having been boarded up with plywood. Not exactly sturdy, but it keeps out the drafts and makes things feel cozier. Less exposed.

Mikey dumps his skateboard and weapons on the couch, and heads towards the kitchen on a hunch. His hunch is right, and Donnie is sitting at the table with what’s probably a cold mug of tea. He’s the blank Donnie right now, tired and not looking at anyone. Then, as he sees Mikey, he becomes the anxious one, then a relieved one, and then back to the anxious one.

Donnie stands, stumbles, and nearly knocks over his drink as he does. He’s blinking at Mikey, and seems shocked that he came back.

The words, _“You came back.”_ confirm that, as Donnie says so in a breathless voice. Mikey nods awkwardly, and tries to remember what he wanted to say.

Then, the same time as Mikey does, Donnie blurts, _“I’m sorry!”_

 _“I shouldn’t’ve blown you off!”_ Mikey says, the same time as Donnie says, _“I shouldn’t have shut you out!”_

And then they both stand there, looking at one another, and probably both feeling just as sheepish as the other.

Then, because the situation is so ridiculous and Mikey is only mutant- he lets out something like a giggle-snort, which sets of Donnie’s own embarrassed laughter, and then the tension is gone and they’re both cracking up.

Donnie gently clasps Mikey’s shoulder, and says again, _“I’m sorry.”_

Mikey puts a hand over his brothers, and smiles as he says, _“I’m sorry too.”_

And Mikey’s smile feels real and the obvious anxiety to Donnie’s posture drains away, and Mikey suggests that they sit down and make more tea. He has more to say than just a sorry, because Leatherhead told him to say the things Mikey told him. Because they’d help make things better, and help prevent something like this happening again, small as it was in hindsight.

Their home is still too new to be stable, and Mikey knows that even better now, seeing what one dispute can do to both of them.

So Mikey puts the kettle on, dumps out Donnie’s cold tea and replaces it with new warmth, giving it a twin as he does, and sits down at the table to actually _talk_ with his brother for once.

“You just… go too fast for me sometimes,” Mikey explains, dragging the words out of himself. “I get lost, and then I get upset because I got lost. Um. I don’t _really_ mean it when I say shit like I did. I’m just… mad that I can’t keep up. And I’m sorry for… reacting like that every time. It’s not your fault I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Donnie says, empathetic and genuine enough that Mikey looks up from his staring contest with his cup. Donnie repeats again, “You’re _not stupid,_ Mikey. You’re just… not a genius.”

Mikey scoffs, internally stinging in places that he tries to hide but can’t. “What was your first clue?”

“No- no I mean- no one is going to be able to keep up with me,” Donnie says, grimacing as he chooses his words. “No one can. I’m just… too far off the grid for anyone else to get it. Dr. Rockwell can almost, but even he admits that my head goes places his can’t. And I guess I get excited, and forget that not everyone speaks the same binary code I do. And that doesn’t make you stupid, Mikey, for not being like me. I’m just different in a different way from you, and that’s okay. _And-_ I’m sorry that I made you feel like you weren’t smart. And for… all the times I called you just that. I was out of line when I did, and I honestly regret doing that to you.”

“Well… I’m sorry I crap all over your ideas all the time,” Mikey says, accepting what Donnie said and putting it away for further examination later, because wow. That was something. “And I’m sorry I’ve taken stuff from the lab, here and back home, and broken it. And for messing with your experiments, even after you told me not to, and with the cars and the weapons and the everything, really. And I’m sorry for not stepping up when Leo and Raph did that shit too. I should’ve, but I didn’t.”

“In all fairness, I haven’t exactly stuck up for you either,” Donnie says, tone tired and regretful. “We both… kept to our lanes, I suppose. Avoided causing extra trouble for ourselves.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Mikey says, because what else is there to say? It’s over and done with, and neither of them can make a time machine to fix that stuff. They can just deal with its fallout now, and… try to fix it best they can.

The silence between them gets heavy for a moment, past events weighing on them both, before Mikey asks, “Can you try again, explaining the plant stuff for me? I’ll actually listen this time, I swear.”

The way Donnie visibly brightens, given something he knows exactly how to talk about, is almost better than Mikey’s realization earlier that no, his brother wasn’t going to kick him out for being an ass, now or in the past.

“I had this idea, because I was thinking about how the grocery stores we hit up for food aren’t always going to be so easy to break into, right?” Donnie says, perking up with each word. Mikey nods, and his brother continues. “We don’t want to leave patterns for people to follow and we don’t like risking going outside our territories. Plus it’s a hassle. _So-_ I was thinking, if I could combined the reproduction rate and growth time of mushrooms with tuber vegetables, like carrots or beets, and maybe with leafy vegetables, like lettuce or broccoli, the we might be able to create a self-sustaining crop if we got the soil and nutrients and water right! And, of course, tending and weeding and such would have to be involved and likely some helping hand with added fertilizer and compost and maybe selective plant marriages, but point being- we wouldn’t have to worry about food so much anymore, or about our vitamin and fibre intake!”

Mikey blinks, tries to take what his brother has just said and understand it, and finds he _sort of_ caught what was said. “So basically we get an indoor-underground garden patch of Frankenstein vegetables and eat better in general?”

“Yes!” Donnie exclaims. “The process of combining the vegetable species alone would be fascinating, aren’t you excited by it?”

Mikey thinks about that idea, of having plants filling up the empty spaces still in their home. About the smell of fresh plant life, rich and alluring in a way that calls to something in the back of Mikey’s mind. He thinks about it, remembers the way the farm house smelt on early mornings, before Leo had woken up and it’d just been Mikey and days of time to lounge around and learn new things other than fighting and hiding. He thinks about that, brought here into their new home, their new everything-

And Mikey smiles, because that sounds pretty damn good to him. He tells Donnie as much, and the ecstatic excitement his brother has it worth all the scientific jargon he endures right after.

 

 

 

Trying to break out of what he’s known almost all his life is hard for Mikey. Shifting ingrained responses and switching out reflexive reactions. It’s hard and it’s difficult, but he figures it’s worth it.

It’s worth it because he finds that he likes the nice responses, the nice reactions, a lot better than the old, dismissive ones.

For one, it results in the blank and the anxious Donnie’s being around a lot less, and the excited and warm one being around a lot more. For another, it makes Donnie brighter and happier, and in turn, he makes efforts to do the same for Mikey.

Like letting Mikey actually get to help plant their first test crop, something Donnie’s never let him do before. Until now, Donnie has kept him as far as possible from his lab and projects, and Mikey appreciates the effort for change. It’s not as complex or entertaining as some of the things Donnie has done before, it’s not the Shellraiser or the grappling hooks or the many other weapons and gadgets he’s designed for Mikey and their brothers-

But Mikey kind of prefers this, in a way. The quiet steady activity of getting the soil trays just right, and watching and listening to Donnie mumble under his breath as he perfects the combinations of the plants. It’s not big and loud, but it’s nice. It’s probably just what Mikey needs.

A late night gardening session is definitely what he needs, after he’s made the mistake of reading some of their brothers’ angrier texts, listened to more voice messages than he should, and then Donnie moves too fast and too close and Mikey just _freezes._

He freezes and he shuts his eyes , hunching up as he waits for a hit for whatever he’s done wrong or stupidly this time- and then remembers all at once that it’s _Donnie,_ and that there’s no one else here and that his brother won’t do that to him.

It’s a long, awkward moment, as Donnie lowers the hand he’d been using to reach the top shelf of their cupboard, putting away a cup as they do the dishes, and Mikey feels embarrassed and stupid as his brother steps back out of his space.

“I’m sorry,” Donnie whispers right after, carefully keeping his arms down and away from Mikey. In plain sight too. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Me neither,” Mikey replies, just as quietly. And the silence that follows makes him want to hide or make noise so it doesn’t exist anymore or maybe just run. Run from this and how Mikey’s screwed up, in his head and in his life.

Then, slowly, and in a way that’s silently asking _is this okay?_ Donnie lifts his arms for a hug, and waits for Mikey’s response.

Mikey drops the dishtowel in the sink, and takes the hug.

They spend the rest of the night doing quiet things with the plants. They’re already sprouting, underneath the heat lamps and UV ray lamps that Donnie has rigged up through most of their home. It makes the station feel like the middle of the day with them on, and Mikey drinks in the sensation. He doesn’t miss the long, dragging days of the farm, but he does miss the sun.

He gets dirt all up and down his arms, even though he doesn’t need to, and buries the sensations that aren’t really there under the mud. Donnie lets him fuss with one of the spare pots, filling it with spare dirt and spare seedlings, and gives Mikey the labels and markers when he asks. _Asks,_ not takes. Because there’s a new rule for them both: communication. It’s been a good rule so far.

Mikey sticks his new, personal plant right in the center of all the other pots and trays, because while he’d planned to shove it to the side originally, Donnie had said, _“Put it in the middle, so it gets the best light.”_

And maybe there’s more to that than just his brother being extra nice to him because Mikey’s had a crap night, but Mikey doesn’t care to read into it. He takes the kindness as it is, and names his pot _Sir Bramble-squire_ , even though it’s probably lettuce and not brambles or squires.

Kitty isn’t much of a fan of their new home temperature, but Mikey makes it up to her by, again, _asking_ to borrow some of Donnie’s tools, and carving a bunch of little ice cubes into fun shapes for her to play with in her freezer. He gives the tools back right after, and it’s kind of neat but sad to see the half-hidden surprise Donnie has at Mikey’s good behavior.

Mikey gets more texts from his brothers through all that, and he does the sensible thing. He shoves his phone under his mattress, and forgets about it for the rest of the evening.

Mikey’s good at forgetting things, ignoring things, and rolling with things. He’s good at falling and hiding and pretending. He’s not so good at remembering rules unless he tries really hard, and he’s not so good at remembering where a boundary is if he’s not paying attention.

He’s working on the last two things though, and he knows Donnie is working on his own issues too. They’re getting there, and until they do, Mikey’s phone can stay under his mattress until he wants otherwise.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....you know, I can't think of much to say here except "Thanks" to everyone who's been supportive of this fic. Really, thank you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teach a child to carry the world, and he will try until he stumbles. Teach a child he must give everything to be loved, and he will empty his chest for you. Teach a child that he does not matter, and he will believe just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is long.

 

 

It’s getting easier. The first week in, Donnie can breathe again, and it feels amazing.

Until the moments where it doesn’t, and everything comes crashing back down on him, and it’s all he can do not to snap under the weight every time it does.

He feels like a Newton’s Cradle. Swinging back and forth from each impact on each side. Sometimes it’s good, and he’s able to enjoy being outside his old home, away from his brothers and the toxic atmosphere that comes from being close to them.

But then, sometimes, Donnie’s chest caves inwards and he panics.

He abandoned them. Left them alone in the lair with a dead father and no doctor, or engineer, or electrician, or or or-

They don’t know how to do any of the stuff Donnie does. No one does. That’s why _he_ did so much in their home. Why he was the one to handle almost every problem that arose. _Because he was the only one who could._

And Donnie just-

-left them. Took Mikey and abandoned everything they’d fought to protect for so long.

Donnie’s chest fills with choking guilt sometimes, and then he can’t breathe at all.

 

 

 

 

The first time it comes- the first time, at least, after they’ve run- is when Donnie realizes he forgot something.

He’s opened his laptop’s insides to repair it, the oldest one, patched together again and again more times than he can remember- and he reaches for a tool he doesn’t have.

It’s not in the tool case beside him, and for a moment, Donnie’s brain says _“I’ll just go to the lab and get my spare.”_

Then he remembers he can’t do that. He can’t go back to it at all.

Donnie stares at the tool case, filled with every tool for computer circuitry he has- or at least he thought it’d been. Apparently, in his rush to run away, he’d lost one of them.

It’s been three days, and he still can’t remember sometimes. Can’t believe it at all.

He can’t believe they got out. He can’t believe they abandoned their brothers.

Donnie can’t finish working on his laptop without that tool. Or, maybe he can, but he can’t think of how he’d be able to.

It’s just one tool. Why is this making him so upset?

It’s just one tool he can’t go back and get, because he’s not allowed to. If he goes back now, his brothers will catch him, and demand answers, and won’t let him leave or defend himself not until he’d explained everything about why he’d _abandoned them-_

It’s just _one stupid tool._

_One tool._

Why is he crying over that?

Donnie hadn’t bothered putting on his mask, no point when he wasn’t going to be training or patrolling. Now he’s regretting it, as he wipes roughly at his cheeks. There’s no way to hide tears when they slide right down his scales, obvious and weak and utterly stupid.

So, so stupid. It’s just one tool. And he _knew_ he wasn’t going to be able to go back. The lair isn’t his home anymore, because he abandoned everything and everyone inside it. He’s not allowed to return again, not without consequences.

Donnie wonders if his brothers hate him for letting them down like this. For running away from a problem instead of fixing it, like he’s supposed to do.

That’s Donnie’s job. To fix things. To fix and build and heal and protect his family, using his mind and hands and knowledge of how to keep them all alive and well.

He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to fix this. For all his tech and plans and endless rolling thoughts that never _stop-_

He doesn’t have any idea how to fix his family. Not a single idea at all.

It’s his fault anyways. He let Leo and Raph and Mikey and _everyone_ down a long, long time ago. And then he didn’t fix that either and now it’s his fault that they’re broken up like they are.

Donnie lowers his head onto his hands, fingers moving up to clutch at his skull, and Donnie can’t make any noise at all. Can’t breathe can’t speak can’t _think-_

His throat tightens, and his eyes burn. Wetness drops onto the table, and a distant part of Donnie scolds himself for dirtying his workspace like that.

He’s supposed to be able to fix anything. Any situation, any problem, and any person.

He’s their engineer. He’s their technician. He’s their left flank defender. He’s their only doctor.

And he’d left his brothers anyways.

Donnie’s forehead rests on the cool of his lab table, right next to the tool case that didn’t have the _one tool_ that he needed, and he wheezes harshly.

He’s crying because he doesn’t have that one, stupid tool.

He’s crying because he can’t change that one, stupid mistake.

He’s crying because he broke his family and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

 

 

 

Donnie tries to move past those moments. Keep moving forwards, even if he’s… not really sure where that forwards is meant to go.

Lingering on his mistakes and failings won’t help them. Thinking about them will just drag him into a spiral; one he can’t get out of for hours, sometimes days.

He tries to focus on the present. On making their new home livable, and lovable, and something solid.

Donnie takes a long while to do that. Days, in fact. And taking days to figure something out… that’s too long for him. He’s supposed to have everything done right away, right that very hour if not second.

Donnie spends a lot of the hours in those days in his new lab, painstakingly going over his equipment for maintenance checks. He takes such good care of them, because it’s unlikely for him to find replacements, but he checks anyways despite knowing how well he treats them. Anything to avoid the bubble of pointlessness in his head.

Donnie used to think about endless ideas. Endless machines and inventions he could build to make their home better.

He realizes now that most of those were set aside, and then forgotten, in favor of inventions for war.

He catches himself still trying to come up with new weapons, new defenses, even though there’s no need anymore. The Shredder is dead, and what arsenal they have now is more than enough to deal with the ordinary crime of New York. Donnie’s still thinking like they’re at war, even though it’s been over for weeks now.

He realizes he’s forgotten what it’s like to invent purely for himself, for his own enjoyment, and not for someone in his family.

It’s… not a pleasant realization.

An idea that’s not for weaponry or his brothers finally comes to him, and Donnie feels something in his mind unfold itself again. Something that had curled up and went to sleep a few years ago, because it hadn’t had a place in his life then.

He has a place now, though. A place he can create whatever he wants. Like a garden.

A _garden._ Real biological lifeforms, grown straight from the soil. Donnie has always been more inclined towards inorganic matter and creations, but a _garden._ They could have a garden, a renewable source of food and oxygen, right in the station.

The idea springs into his mind, and blooms into a whole plan.

He’d been too busy on the farm to even think about this sort of thing. Busy with mutagen and busy with keeping his brother’s condition stable. He couldn’t divide his attention any further, not when Leo’s coma had already been Donnie’s fault. He’d owed his brother his full attention.

Now though. Now Donnie didn’t have to give his attention to anyone except Mikey. And Mikey was different from their older brothers, so maybe…

Maybe Donnie could have this.

_“Why are you even doing this? We got lots of food. We don’t need some stupid garden. All it sounds like is a bunch more work for us. Can’t we just watch TV or somethin’ instead?”_

Donnie blinks, and realizes that it’s a stupid idea. A stupid idea that won’t do anything to impress his siblings- _sibling-_ and won’t interest them- _him_ \- at all.

It’s not a weapon. It’s not a defense. It’s not even a breakthrough.

It’s just a garden, and one they don’t need.

Donnie’s idiotic excitement dies, and he pushes the idea far, far back into his mind. Where it’ll stay, because it’s not needed.

Mikey is yelling at him, and Donnie doesn’t listen. He’s tired, and he doesn’t want to hear anything Mikey has to say to him.

_“I’m sorry!”_

Donnie doesn’t care. It was a stupid idea anyways.

He says as much to Mikey, and pulls his hand out of his brother’s. Why Mikey lets him go, despite obviously not wanting him to, Donnie can’t tell. Their older siblings wouldn’t have.

Donnie walks out of their new living room, through their new home, and into his new lab. But while the layout and surroundings might be new, the motions of retreating from a fight are old.

He shuts the door, and locks it on automatic. It’s the only way to keep his brothers from messing with his experiments.

Except, there’s only one brother here, and Donnie has no experiments anymore.

Donnie swallows the thick guilt about what he’s just done, what he has done, and what he’s doing- and tries not to think at all for a while.

When he goes out later, to apologize, to explain himself-

-Mikey isn’t there.

And Donnie thinks _oh, I guess that was to be expected._

 

 

The hours after that are blurry. Donnie doesn’t recall them all quite right, the edges fuzzy with anxiety and guilt. And shame as well, for shutting Mikey out over something so stupid.

He can’t keep even this one part of his family together, can he?

It’s a heavy thought, that one. And it drags Donnie far down into despair, and leaves him floundering.

Where would Mikey have gone? Back to their brothers? Maybe. Or maybe not. Why would he, after everything they’d done to get away…

Donnie calls Mikey’s phone only once, and then hangs up as he hears the ringtone echo through the station.

Useless. Pointless. Just a stupid fight and it may as well have cost him everything he had left.

Donnie tries, and fails, to come up with a plan of action, and ends up sitting in the kitchen with a mug of tea. Like his father had done with him, when he was much younger.

Donnie recalls then that his father hadn’t done that in years with him, and the memory of their drifting relationship only serves to weigh him further down.

Mikey comes back, long after Donnie lost track of time, and for a split second Donnie can’t believe his eyes at all. Mikey came back. They’d fought, and he could have left, but he came back.

It was such a stupid fight, too. Just a regular quarrel between siblings. It was _normal_ , and yet, it’d felt like the worst thing that could have happened.

Then, Mikey surprises Donnie, and apologizes the same time as he tries to. For a different reason, but not really. Neither of them wants to fight anymore, and they don’t want to bring that sort of thing into their new home. The war is over, they’ve left their brothers behind for the moment, and it’s time to move on. So Donnie says he’s sorry, and Mikey does as well.

Donnie realizes, after they’ve sat and talked and communicated better where their boundaries and issues lie, that he doesn’t actually… remember the last time someone did that to him. Said sorry to him, _or_ listened to his opinions. It’s a startling, and frustrating, and saddening realization.

That seems to be a trend lately. It’s just one thing after another, figuring out the things that’d been _wrong_ with how their lives have been up until recently, and how Donnie hadn’t even noticed the wrongness until he was away from it.

But is he actually away from it? He’s still reading the texts, still listening to the voice messages. He still feels like he’s drowning in guilt, whenever he’s not distracted by Mikey or the garden.

Donnie does his best to focus on the garden and relearning how to have a relationship with his brother, and not the pit in his chest that continues to stay, even now that they’ve left the lair.

It’s hard though. Because Donnie… he can’t completely ignore his phone, or the pit. The hardest messages to ignore are from Leo and April. Leo’s, because… Donnie’s reflexive response to just _do_ whatever Leo is asking him to is a strong one, added with the ever present guilt and shame that his brother’s words make well up in him…

And April’s because… well, she’s April, and Donnie misses her deeply.

But. He can’t contact her. It’s a hard thing to admit, even in private, but he’s not exactly sure… how much he can trust her anymore. Because though Donnie likes to think he and his friend are closer than his brothers are with her, he’s not actually entirely sure how true that is. Especially now that their family has been divided like this. Donnie’s brothers, they’ve known her just as long, and April’s relationship with Raph had gotten particularly strong while they were on the farm, and Leo _is_ her leader and sensei now, and…

And then there was the crystal incident, and... Za’naron.

It’s hard, but Donnie can’t reply to April’s texts or calls, and all his arguments as to why sound weak even to his own ears.

Donnie reads and listens to and memorizes every message sent to him, and replies to none of them. The pit in his chest gets larger, and he spends even more effort on focusing just on the garden and Mikey.

On the bright side of his and Mikey’s argument, at least they now know that they have four less people looking for them. The Mutanimals are on their side, or Leatherhead is at least, and maybe that’s more than enough.

It’s enough for Mikey, it seems, because after getting back into contact with his friend, Mikey’s mood improves considerably. Donnie is envious of his brother’s good spirits, and wishes he had someone like that to confide in. April’s name is the first on his tongue, usually speaking, but with this sensitive sort of topic…

Would she even agree with him? Believe him? She’d seen a fair chunk of what their brothers did- though not all of it, not even close- but still hadn’t said anything.

Maybe she’d brushed it off as brother drama, like Donnie had for years. Maybe she just hadn’t noticed at all. Maybe what was happening to his family _was_ normal for brothers. Maybe Donnie was overreacting and had made an enormous and terrible _mistake-_

Maybe he needed to take ten deep breaths and not think about that anymore. Step outside for a bit instead, and take some time to himself.

He hasn’t done that in a while. Gone scavenging on his lonesome. It’s been two and some weeks since they’d run away, and Donnie hadn’t gone out at all excluding the one night for retrieval of gardening supplies. Mostly, and he’s having an easier time admitting this lately, it’s because he’s scared. Scared that if he goes out, his brothers will magically find him the second he does, and then…

Well. There’s all manner of horrible scenarios in Donnie’s head, and he does his best not to think about any of them. He’s not ready to deal with his older brothers, and he doesn’t even want to entertain the thought of facing their judgement at the moment.

Donnie’s body feels heavy, even as his mind feels fuzzy and disconnected, as he prepares to step out of the station. He takes his bo staff and his standard arsenal of throwing weapons, and a large rucksack that’s empty and ready to be filled with whatever he finds. If there’s anything too big to carry back, he’ll just hide it and return with the Shellraiser later.

Mikey isn’t around tonight, so Donnie doesn’t have to say goodbye or explain where he’s off to. Mikey had poked his head in earlier to say he was spending some time with Leatherhead and Mondo, to just goof around for once. Donnie had heard the silent nervousness to Mikey’s explanation to where he was going, and the tentative worry for disapproval or denial.

Donnie had smiled, and reminded him to be back before sunrise. The responding sunshiny grin had been worth the buzz of anxiety Donnie had over Mikey going out like he was, and Donnie had done his best to repress it.

Mikey is the best at sneaking around, as Donnie has realized and remembered recently. Even if their brothers and their father had never given that part of Mikey any praise, Donnie is doing his best lately to give credit where credit was due. Mikey would be fine, especially with an overprotective and oversized friend there to watch him. If their brothers showed up, Donnie could trust Leatherhead to step in.

Really, it’s _Donnie_ who needs to worry about being caught, as he ascends to the surface. He isn’t the best at sneaking around, and he doesn’t have any protective friends to watch his shell. The only things he has going for him is his anxiety induced paranoia, and his ability to calculate a throwing star’s direction faster than most people could blink. If he got cornered by anyone, at least he could make a big enough distraction with a flurry of metal that he’d be able to run away.

It’s a small, mostly useless comfort, but Donnie goes to the rooftops anyways.

Alone above the city, his anxiety isn’t so bad, and the heaviness to his movements lifts. He takes a deep breath in, and starts running.

He has a mental map for every useful stop points in their new territory. It’s not quite as plentiful as their old one, and nearly crosses over with said old one at some parts, but Donnie can make the best with what he’s got. It’s part of his genius, taking nearly anything and using it best it can be used.

Donnie flips over the edge of an alleyway, and skims down the building’s sides to the ground. There are a couple of good electronic stores here, and he can make this his first stop for spare computer parts before moving on. With the rate he goes through parts, it never hurts to have extras of his extras around.

Of course, he’s actually been going through his stash a lot slower lately. It probably has something to do with cutting down the exposure to destructive individuals.

A sudden well of shame and guilt nearly upheaves Donnie’s beginnings of a good mood, and he has to forcibly shove it down as he starts into the garbage disposal. He left the station to _not_ think about those emotions or the pit in his chest, not dwell on them further even as he finds a near-pristine external hardrive in the trash.

The joy he might’ve felt at the find is dimmed by his now low mood, and he shoves it into his bag with lackluster movements. Whatever, he’ll figure out how to feel happy about it later, whenever he gets to cleaning up the bugs on the drive that got it thrown out.

Donnie gives the bin another cursory once-over for more useful tech, and finds none that he doesn’t already have three or five of. He shuts the lid with a bang, not caring for the noise since no-one is around, and goes to climb the building again.

Of course, because it’s _just his luck-_ he starts back around the corner only to run right smack into someone.

Donnie’s defensive instincts flip out, and he recoils fast as he can from the person as they fall backwards. His bo is suddenly in his hands as he does, and he flips down his third eyelids to conceal wherever he’ll target an attack. He skids to a halt a full ten feet back from his opponent, and melts quick as he can into the shadows of the alley.

Then, he feels stupid, because _what the hell-_

-it’s just Casey, grumbling loudly as he gets off the ground and dusts himself off.

For what feels like a solid ten seconds, Donnie can’t correlate the scene in front of him with his own perception of reality. Because _what?_ How did _Casey_ of all people find him?

“The fuck are you doing here?” Donnie says, because he’s so deeply confused he can’t even filter his language.

“Could ask you the same thing, _asshole,”_ Casey replies, peeling a dirty wrapper off his pants. He shoots Donnie a glare, and for the first time, Donnie notices Casey only has his hockey stick with him. No vigilante gear in sight.

“No, seriously. How did you find me?” Donnie asks, moving past his confusion and into panic. Because if _Casey_ is here, then that must mean- “Did you come here with my brothers?”

“Should’ve figured you wouldn’t go too far, this place isn’t even over a few miles out,” Casey says, not answering Donnie’s question as he looks around the alley. “I mean, heck of a walk, but not so much a drive. Or run, considering the mileage you guys get.”

 _“Casey_ , _”_ Donnie says firmly. “Answer my question. Did you or did you not come here with my brothers?”

“Man, the fuck are you hiding from them anyways? None of you will explain _shit,_ ” Casey grumbles, _still not answering Donnie’s questions,_ and he kicks a balled-up newspaper as he looks over at Donnie. And maybe Casey can see how rigid Donnie’s posture has gone because, _finally,_ he rolls his eyes and says, “But no, I didn’t bring your bros. I came here because April told me not to.”

Donnie blinks, opening his eyelids again, and slightly lowers his staff in confusion. Again. “Excuse me, she told you _not_ to come here, and you did anyways?”

“Because no one’s telling me _jackshit_ about what you four are fighting about!” Casey spits abruptly, and Donnie hears actual anger in his voice. “You an’ Mike ran off without a word, and Leo an’ Raph are spinning their wheels trying to find you- and then _April_ comes up to me and says a bunch of really vague shit about keeping your location a secret, and _fuck._ I’m sick of it!”

Casey smacks his hockey stick’s wide end on the ground, and still seems angry as he glares at Donnie. “I came here because if no one’s going to give me damn answers, or answer my damn texts, then I’ll get them my damn self! And shut up- I know that wasn’t grammatically correct! Fuck off!”

Donnie sets aside his reflexive correction, and lets some of his defensiveness ebb. If Casey is alone then, and April has found them but protected them… then maybe not everything is lost?

“…so what now?” Donnie asks carefully, extremely wary of what Casey will decide to do. Now that he has their general location, he could practically bring Donnie’s brothers right to his doorstep. Leo and Raph know the signs of an underground lair; it wouldn’t be hard for them to find Donnie and Mikey’s. It’s a troubling thought, and the way Casey is thinking things over is more so.

“Shit. I don’t know. You could talk to me?” Casey suggests, waving a hand vaguely. His anger slips away, and he sighs loudly. “All four of you are acting weird as hell and I’m _really tired of it._ It’d be nice if you told me what’s going on, because hey, I’m kind of really involved with all your guys’ collective shit, and it really sucks when you all have great big fights and tell me exactly nothing about _why.”_

Donnie isn’t sure how to approach that. Everything that’s happened… can he really summarize it in a way that’s understandable? And more importantly, would Casey even believe him if he tried to?

Casey is Raph’s best friend. That’s a solid fact about their group dynamic. And while he and Donnie had gotten close on the farm, just for a while there, they’d… drifted afterwards. Returned to the older version of their group, where he and Casey barely spoke at all.

And Donnie hadn’t tried to change that. He’d been too busy stifling himself with guilt and stress to even think about relationships. Even with April.

“How do I know you’re not going to go straight to Raph with this?” Donnie says warily, and his tightening grip on his bo is only half unconscious. “I have no reason to trust you to not.”

“Uh, I guess… it’ll depend on what it is,” Casey replies, leaning on his hockey stick. “If it’s like, life-threatening shit, then I probably will. But if you aren’t in danger, and you really, _really_ don’t want me to… guess I won’t.”

Donnie’s grip on his bo staff slackens, and he’s not entirely sure if he just heard correctly. “Really? You promise?”

Casey shrugs, and seems to be trying to look nonchalant as he does. “Sure. Buddies keep secrets for buddies, and that’s what we are. I won’t tell Raph squat if you don’t want me to, ‘cause this seems pretty serious from my view.”

Donnie then realizes that despite the casualness of his words, Casey was actually _worried_ about him and Mikey. Enough that he went against April’s word, and kept their location secret from his best friend. He’s come here in the dead of night, _without_ _his gear to fight,_ which he never does anymore, and clearly isn’t looking to forcibly drag anyone anywhere. He… came to talk, and likely nothing else.

Donnie lowers his staff completely, and tries to keep his head from swimming with both confusion and relief. He’ll settle for the latter at the moment.

“It’s… complicated,” Donnie says slowly, trying to choose words that’ll best explain the situation. Casey is still closer to Raph than he is with Donnie, so there’s a firm chance he won’t believe a word that Donnie has to say. It still sounds fake to Donnie sometimes, even with his own experiences to back it up. Because why would their brothers ever hurt them like that? It doesn’t make sense.

“Isn’t everything these days?” Casey drawls, and Donnie notices then that his friend has deep circles under his eyes. Donnie supposes that not even Casey Jones is immune to post-war sleep deprivation. Or mourning symptoms.

The remembrance that his father is _dead_ shoots through Donnie’s mind suddenly, like it has on and off for _weeks_ now, and it’s a hard thing to pull his brain back on track. Explaining things, he needs to focus on that. He can do that. Grieving and feeling the pit widen in his chest can come later.

Donnie dryly, and semi-humorlessly, chuckles at Casey’s words. “Yeah, I guess so. Um. See. Things haven’t been… great, with my family lately. Mikey and I… we needed a break from it.”

“How so? Running away without notice and then not answering your phones for _weeks?”_

And there’s Casey’s anger again, and Donnie wavers for a moment. Maybe he should just give up and not bother trying at all.

He shakes off the negative thought, and tries again. “It- It wasn’t good of us to do that. I’m sorry. We just- we didn’t know if you’d- I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell anyone anything, because… I wasn’t sure if you’d even believe me. About my brothers. And how they’ve been-” For a split second, Donnie doesn’t want to say it, but he _has to._  And as the words finally _do_ come out, they feel like bile on his tongue. “About how they’ve been treating us pretty much like shit. For a really long time, actually. And maybe you haven’t noticed, or maybe you didn’t care, but we _couldn’t take it anymore,_ and-”

“Ah, wait, I’m gonna stop you there,” Casey interrupts; killing the spiral Donnie was working himself into by accident. Casey is grimacing, and looks even more frustrated than earlier. “This? This right here? Yeah, I just realize this is going to involve a lot more feelings than I originally thought and hell if I’m going to do that like this. We’re getting drinks.”

Donnie can’t form a response for a solid beat, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to switch tracks again. “Excuse me. _What?”_

“Drinks. Alcohol. Liquid courage.” Casey explains as he stands straight again, swinging his hockey stick up onto his shoulders. “If we’re going to talk about _feelings,_ then we are going to do it while drunk. Like all men do.”

“I’m a mutant,” Donnie corrects automatically.

“Tomato potato, we’re getting smashed either way.”

Donnie can’t believe this is where the conversation is going. He was having an anxiety attack dammit, can’t they go back to that? “Where the heck are we going to get drinks _this_ time of night? And where would anyone serve a mutant anyways?”

“There’s a depot like, not even three blocks from here,” Casey says, jerking his head leftways. “I passed it a few minutes ago, and it’s definitely still open. Plus, you gave me that nice little fake ID card a few months back, remember? And I got money on me, so we’re in business. Drinks are on me tonight, but you owe me.”

Donnie wants to protest, but then realizes he doesn’t have a reason to. Casey is going to pay, Donnie won’t be seen, and his friend is willing to listen while he supplies drinks that Donnie has only tried a few times before. So in two words, to summarize how few cares Donnie has to give at this point…

_Fuck it._

So, Donnie stows his staff away, gives into peer pressure, and follows his friend towards the liquor store.

 

 

 

When Casey comes back out of the depot, large, heavy bags swinging in his hands, Donnie realizes he needs to make _another_ stressful decision about how much he’s going to trust Casey.

Getting drunk out on a rooftop sounds fun in theory, but Donnie’s entire existence depends on him being aware and ready to run at any given moment. If he got ‘smashed’, as Casey puts it, on a random rooftop, he very likely wouldn’t be able to get back home safely. Too many variable outcomes involve him being seen, or caught, or _dead-_ and Donnie doesn’t want to meet any of those ends. Which brings up the only other choice he has, since doing this anywhere else would be skirting potential exposure.

Casey whistles long and low as they enter the station, and even as Donnie's constant thrum of anxiety heightens at revealing this precious concealed location, he feels some amount of pride for what he and Mikey have accomplished.

“Nice digs,” Casey says, making his way through the stray planters everywhere in the station. “What’s up with all the plants though?”

“It’s… a new experiment,” Donnie says slowly. “It’s a food crop of my- _our_ own design, since it would cut down how often we need to retrieve fresh produce from grocers, and improve the air quality of the station. Mikey and I are working on it together.”

“Both of you?” Casey questions. “And Mikey hasn’t made you flip your shit yet?”

Donnie automatically rolls his eyes at Casey’s good-natured jab, even as he feels hesitantly confused. He doesn’t hear any of the judgement or scorn he’d been waiting for, and he covers the small amount of surprise he has with a shrug. “We’re trying things differently now. It’s… better like this. For both of us.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

“Huh,” Casey says shortly. Then he nods, and seems to just accept Donnie's words. “Cool. Nerdy, but cool. So where’s the kitchen again?”

Donnie points at the largest exit from the main room, being the living room, and Casey heads into it with the bags. Donnie sets down his still-mostly-empty bag by the sofa, adds Casey’s hockey stick to that, and then hesitates at putting down his own weapon.

It’s stupid of him, but doesn’t feel comfortable just disarming himself like that. Not with the elephant still in the room, and his new home’s location being held in Casey Jones’ questionable hands. Donnie really, really wants to be able to blindly trust this- because it feels like he can’t do that with _anyone_ anymore- but he just isn’t _sure._ And Donnie _hates_ being unsure.

Casey comes back out of the kitchen, pushing past the drapes Mikey and Donnie had hung in the place of an actual door. He has the box of four coolers to start with, and Donnie reads nothing but nonchalance in his posture. Donnie hadn’t _heard_ Casey calling anyone in the kitchen, and at the rate Casey texts, Donnie knows he wouldn’t have had time to send a truly clear message to anyone, and Donnie is the only one in his family that ever bothers to use the tracking system in the T-phones, never mind that Donnie disabled Leo’s and Raph’s before he left, and…

Casey had said he wasn’t going to tell. That this was strictly confidential, unless life-threatening. He hadn’t said it quite in words, but it still relayed the message well enough. Donnie can trust Casey. For now.

It’s a hard thing to let go of it, but Donnie leans his staff beside the hockey stick, and goes to sit down with Casey on the couch.

Because Casey is Casey, and Donnie informed him very clearly how fast his body processes and breaks down alcohol, his friend had bought more than enough for the two of them.

Four coolers, six beers, one large bottle of tequila, one medium bottle of rum, and a two litre of coke. It’s a lot, and though Donnie isn’t usually one to literally try drowning his problems, he’s attempting to focus on the ‘liquid courage’ part of things, since hell if he doesn’t need a lot more of that for this.

Donnie still skitters around addressing why he and Casey are doing this, and avoids the topic long as he can. It’s not long enough, unfortunately.

Two coolers and a half-watched television show later, Casey brings in the beer and says, “Okay. We’re pussy-footing shit, and it’s just stupid at this point. Plus, I’ve waited really patiently in my opinion, so I think I’m owed at least a half-assed explanation.”

And Donnie had been so enjoying the fuzziness of alcohol in his system. Casey’s demand brings a sigh to Donnie’s lips, and sobers him mentally and physically. “Fine,” He says wearily, holding out a hand for a beer. “Give me one of those, and we’ll talk.”

The coolers had tasted like limes, but the beer tastes like shit. Donnie doesn’t have much of a taste for it, seems like. He drains the can anyways, because his system eats through the sensations fast enough the effect will hit him immediately, and he _really_ would rather feel brave than scared right now. His scientific mind reminds him through the soft haze that alcohol is a depressant, and will only make things worse if he’s not careful, but Donnie is well beyond caring about that. He’s taking risks all over tonight as is, so what’s one more?

So Donnie sets the can down on the table, next to his two bottles and Casey’s single one, and tries to pull his admittedly-messy shit together long enough to give a coherent explanation about his family drama, and _not_ fall into an anxiety attack or disassociation episode midway.

Donnie has been learning all sorts of new and wonderful psychiatry terms lately, since he’d begun researching how to help with Mikey’s problems about physical contact and triggers, and by extension learning about his own issues and triggers, and isn’t it just amazing how _fucked up_ everything really is about them?

His own little brother, scared of sudden movements and certain tones of voices. Scared of sudden movements and certain tones of voices specifically from their brothers, from _Donnie._ Donnie had done it again too, just yesterday in fact, and it’d been _horrible_ to see Mikey shrink away from the contact. Donnie doesn’t try to touch Mikey’s back of head or face anymore, not without explicit permission and warning. Because those were Raph’s favorite spots to hit him. Just a good old smack or punch to get Mikey back on track, remind him he wasn’t allowed to daydream or act goofy while they were on patrol or training or apparently _anywhere_ at _any time,_ because Raph did it _constantly,_ and Mikey goes right back to those moments with the right triggers and Donnie _hates it._

That specific stress point comes spilling out too fast for Donnie to register how far he’s gone off track, and he’s left with Casey staring at him. Beer can limp in hand, and genuine and complete shock in his expression.

Donnie’s frustrated rambling dries up, and he ducks his head. “Sorry. That wasn’t where I meant to go. But that’s… that’s one of the reasons we left.”

Casey stares a moment longer, then takes a slow sip of his beer. Donnie chances a glance, and Casey seems… thoughtful, and maybe a bit disturbed.

“Is that really true?” Casey asks finally, quiet and confused sounding. Donnie jerks a nod, and doesn’t look at Casey.

“Fuck,” Casey says quietly. _“Fuck.”_

“You know the worst part?” Donnie says, because he’s definitely heading for tipsy now and feeling angry and wanting to get this poison out of himself _finally_ \- “I did it too, sometimes. Leo and Raph did it more, way more, but _I did it too._ I’m not guiltless here. None of us are. And I didn’t even start trying to fucking fix it until a few days back. He just- it happens so _much,_ Casey. He’ll be completely normal, and then I’ll be in his space and he just _freezes._ Like- like some kind of _prey animal._ And it’s fucked up that I look at my brother and see that sort of imagery, but it’s really hard not to. Fuck, and that’s not even addressing how bad the psychological effects we’ve had on him are. He thinks he’s stupid, Casey. He thinks he’s actually stupid, and _fuck-_ I _definitely_ helped with that one. I perpetuated it because _I_ was having a hard time with _Leo,_ and I took my anger out on him because it was easy, and that’s _not fucking okay_. _None_ of this is okay.

“And I didn’t even really notice, let alone _comprehend,_ how not okay it was, until we left,” Donnie finishes, miserable and angry still. He’d done that to his brother, increasingly so over the past years, and yet again, Donnie can find his own hand in the process of breaking his own family. Mikey didn’t deserve that. He might’ve brought stress- _god, so much stress-_ into Donnie’s life, but at least Donnie had half-way deserved that stress. Mikey hadn’t ever done anything, really, to warrant so much shit from their family.

Casey is silent, and Donnie feels like this is the point where his friend will decide to keep listening, or bail out. One or the other, and Donnie knows that there is a very real chance that Casey will pick the latter. Why would he believe Donnie anyways? _Especially_ about Raph’s treatment of Mikey. Picking them over his best friend? Yeah right…

Casey sets his beer on the table with a sharp sound, stands up, and walks away. It’s not towards his hockey stick though, so Donnie’s brief jump of fear isn’t confirmed. Instead, Casey goes back into the kitchen, and returns with two glasses and the tequila bottle. Casey sets them down on the coffee table with loud thunks, and then stares at them, hunched over his knees and looking sick.

“I … I don’t know what to say,” Casey mumbles, looking at the table, then at Donnie, and then back at the table. His hands ball into fists, and he sucks in a harsh breath. “Fuck. This is just- fucked up.”

Donnie nods, and keeps eyeing Casey’s reactions. And in those reactions, he sees that Casey’s eyes are wide and have anger burning in them.

 _“Fuck,”_ Casey says, because it’s the best and simplest reaction, even in Donnie’s opinion, and he slumps back into the couch. Casey’s anger drains away, and it’s replaced by something like exhaustion. “Well. That was incredibly awful to hear, and you said that was only _one_ reason. So lay the rest on me. I’m ready.”

“…you’re still going to listen?” Donnie asks, still wary of Casey’s trustworthiness.

Casey sighs, and leans heavily against the arm of the couch. “Yup. Seems like. We’ve come this far, and I’ve got the hard shit here for when we need it. Go for bravo or whatever, we’re too far into this to bail out now.”

Donnie swallows thickly, utterly disbelieving of what’s happening, and nods weakly. “Sure. Let’s- let’s do that.”

Casey grabs his beer again, and gives Donnie the _go for it_ gesture.

So Donnie does.

 

 

 

Among all the other wonderfully _fucked up_ things about his family, besides Mikey’s treatment from Raph, there’s the matter of how _Leo_ treated _Donnie._

And as much as Donnie convinced himself otherwise, for so long, it’s hard to not see it now that he’s stepped back. Over and over, his brother would emotionally manipulate Donnie into doing things. Into pushing himself to the breaking point, and then over it, because Leo thought that was what he should do. What he _had_ to do, because his brother said so.

The retromutagen, especially. Donnie has finally perfected that solution, but not before he’d gone through months, _months_ , of sleepless days and nights. He’d barely stepped out of his lab even to use the washroom, let alone sleep and eat. And then Leo, despite knowing that, had come in and told him off for failing to fix yet another problem for their family.

“And he’d followed me out of the lab and said- and I’m quoting him here-” Donnie says, pacing still because his anxiety over actually _voicing_ these things is driving him nuts. “- _‘you know how much this means to Sensei’._ And then I’d said, _‘I know, I’m trying as hard as I can’._ And then _he’d said- ‘well try HARDER’.”_

“Try harder, _try harder,”_ Donnie hisses, rubbing his face angrily as the fury from back then bubbles up hot and stinging. “His solution to an unsolvable problem I’d been slaving over for _months,_ was to _try fucking harder._ Never mind that I’d been doing _just that, every single night._ Never mind that he did and still does _nothing_ around the lair other than bark orders and nit-pick everyone else’s _sub-par_ martial arts abilities. Because, _because,_ fucking _maybe_ I don’t have time to train _,_ because I’m busy solving everyone else’s problems all on my own! And every time I’d try to sit down and do something _other_ than break my brain over everyone else’s issues, he’d come in and say _something or other_ that would just make me feel like _shit,_ and then I’d go right back to whatever I’d been stuck on, because _fuck,_ I can’t let my clan down, now can I?”

Casey’s still listening to Donnie’s ranting, and his expressions keep flickering between frustration, anger, and sometimes briefly a sort of sad confusion. Donnie keeps pacing restlessly, anxiously, and Casey pushes the small glass of tequila across the coffee table towards him. It’s only filled a quarter ways, but it burns in Donnie’s throat regardless.

How many has he had so far? He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t care. He’s mad and pissed and maybe very tipsy. And he just does. not. _care._ anymore.

Casey hasn’t told him to stop yet, hasn’t refuted or rebuked any of Donnie’s claims. Maybe he’s listening, maybe he’s waiting for Donnie to pass out so he can call Leo and Raph. Donnie’s paranoia and alcohol fueled mind says the latter will happen without a doubt, but Donnie, again, _doesn’t fucking care anymore._

He has so much stress in him. _So much stress._ He’s completely and utterly done with the stress he has pent up. He wants it out. He wants it gone and burned up, and if it takes alcohol and senseless ranting to do that, then so be it.

The pit inside of his chest widens and yawns as he keeps going, and lo, Donnie keeps going anyways. He doesn’t care. He _does not care._ And maybe if he says that enough times, it’ll be true, and the things he’s saying about his family, about his _brothers,_ will stop tasting like burnt iron on his tongue and he’ll be able to say them and not feel like a piece of shit _for_ saying them.

He’s supposed to love his brothers. They’re all he has left anymore. He’s supposed to love them explicitly and without issue. That’s how family works, that’s how their father _taught them_ family works. Of course their father is dead and Donnie broke his family anyways, so what does that matter anymore? What does _anything_ matter anymore?

“Hey, wait,” Casey says, raising a hand as Donnie keeps pacing. “Back it up to the part where you broke your family. The fuck is that about?”

Donnie laughs, and it comes out harsh and bitter. “Because I did. _I_ did this. _I’m_ the one who took Mikey and ran away, _I’m_ the one who got it in my head that our family was wrong, _I’m_ the one didn’t fucking fix this before it got so bad-”

“Hey, Dee, chill for a sec, what do you mean-?”

“If I’d just _tried harder-”_ Donnie says, ignoring Casey’s attempts to interrupt. “-to just _fix things,_ head Leo off before he- he got like this, or stood up for Mikey against Raph, or actually managed to talk to my father, or never had that stupid fucking fight to begin with- maybe I could have prevented _everything.”_

Casey’s watching him pace, eyes wide and confused, and Donnie feels like his chest has sucked everything inwards, even as the words coming from him bubble out of that space, and he’s had far too many drinks to prevent them from spilling out.

He could have prevented this. Tracking everything back, months and months ago, _he could have prevented this._ It all leads back, the threads of misfortune and misery, to the point where Leo had told Donnie they needed to leave the city, and Donnie had _refused._

He’d been cocky. He’d been so self-assured. He’d been a fucking _imbecile_. He’d looked his leader, his brother, _and_ _now his Sensei,_ dead in the eye and had refused his plan of action. And then it’d just _spiraled from there._

Leo’s injuries. His coma. His persisting weakness in his leg and lung capacity, even months after. And beyond just that- their father’s defeat at the hands of the Shredder, in the sewers. His retreat into a feral state, just to survive. The time they’d wasted, healing Leo and healing their father. Wasted and lost, costing more lives in New York, and costing them battles at later dates, because it’d taken _months_ for Donnie’s father and brother to recover, and maybe if they’d never been injured like that, Leo wouldn’t have lost those pieces of himself trying to cope with such severe trauma, trauma that Donnie might as well have caused _himself,_ and maybe Raph wouldn’t have acted out so badly towards Mikey if Leo hadn’t gone so absent and different like he had, and maybe then Donnie wouldn’t have had to enact such drastic measures and break them even further apart than they already were, and their father- their father would have been at full strength, maybe, for all the fights he went into and lost later on, and maybe he could have won those fights, won them and come home again, _including his final one, if only Donnie had just listened to his brother-_

- _it’s his fault, everything is his fault, their dead father their broken brothers their split home and the grave miles and miles from New York-_

 _-if only he’d listened, if only he’d nodded and said yes and not stubbornly, stupidly insisted they stay and fight, then maybe their family wouldn’t have been broken, maybe their father would still be_ alive-

And Donnie doesn’t even notice until Casey’s has pulled his hands away from his head, that he’s been clutching his skull and yelling for the past few minutes.

Donnie’s ears are ringing, and his chest feels hollow, and he realizes all at once that he’s been speaking without any filter. Everything he’d carefully concealed and ignored has clawed its way out of him, and now Casey knows. Knows what Donnie’s done.

 _“Jesus Christ,”_ Casey breathes hoarsely, looking at Donnie like he’s an explosive waiting to go off. He keeps a strong grip on Donnie’s shaking arms, and seems like he’s struggling to form a better response than just that. “How long have you been holding that in?”

 _Too long,_ Donnie’s mind says, and then he just _breaks._

“It’s my fault,” Donnie says, and his voice cracks as he does. “I- I broke our family. The one- the _one time_ I really should have listened, I _didn’t,_ and it- it cost us _everything,_ and I’m- I’m _so sorry-”_

And he can’t get anything out past that point, because his chest finally does give out, and Donnie’s throat can only produce a harsh sob.

Casey whispers _“fuck”_ one last time, and releases Donnie’s arms to pull him into a hug. And Donnie lets him, because right now he can’t do anything other than just hold tightly onto his friend, and try not to drown as everything falls apart.

                                                         

 

                                                                                                       

Casey, as it turns out, is actually pretty good at listening. And Donnie, as it also turns out, _really_ needs to just flat out talk about everything.

It isn’t even a conversation. It’s just Casey letting Donnie vent as much as he wants, and providing a literal and metaphorical shoulder to cry on.

Donnie is still crying on and off. It’s humiliating, but he is definitely drunk at this point, and oh he cares so very little for pretenses anymore. So very little. The absolute least.

So Donnie talks without a filter, for probably the first time in a very long while. Usually he edits everything he says, choosing and selecting words carefully so he can avoid a conflict. But, there’s alcohol swimming in his stomach, someone is actually willing to listen to him this time, and Donnie is… so tired of filtering. Of hiding what he really thinks.

As he talks, his brain jumps all over itself, picking up different threads of frustration and misery and self-blame that have been stewing for months, if not years. He’s dumping on Casey, but his friend is still listening, so Donnie keeps going despite feeling guilty for it.

He feels guilty about everything lately, so why not add one more thing to the pile? He can take it. He’s got the experience. Too much experience.

He feels guilty that he didn’t fix his family, that he ran away from them instead, and even as Casey tells him it’s _not_ his fault, Donnie can’t accept that. It is. It is and he feels horrible for it.

He’s their everything, it feels like. Their doctor, their electrician, their technician, their carpenter and scientist and… everything. He does everything for his family, and he _still abandoned them regardless._ And just when they probably needed him most, because their dad is dead and that’s Donnie’s fault too, and-

“It’s _not_ your fault,” Casey insists again, even as Donnie shakes his head. “You can’t- you can’t take all the credit for him dying. I mean- there’s no way you could have predicted _any_ of this happening.”

“I should have been able to,” Donnie mutters. “I should have and I _could have,_ and _fuck-_ I could’ve prevented _everything_ if I’d just _listened._ They probably hate me for that.”

“What, no they don’t-”

“I _abandoned_ them, Casey. I packed up and left, and won’t answer any of their calls, and I’m- I’m the reason-”

“Shut up, _shut up._ No you’re not. Jesus Christ- you are _not the reason your dad is dead._ ”

Donnie mutely shakes his head again, because he _is,_ and hunches over his knees as his eyes start to burn. Casey sighs, and gives up trying to convince Donnie otherwise on matters, and just puts an arm across his shell instead. It’s a small comfort, that touch, but it’s a good one as Donnie rides out his umpteenth swell of grief and regret.

Then, because Donnie’s brain is large and just so much fun with alcohol in it, his thoughts jump to other points in his mind. So many points. He has too much in his head, and it’s all crawling out now that someone is willing to hear all the stinging and poisonous thoughts that have crowded together in Donnie’s mind.

He tells Casey that their father didn’t say goodbye to them. He had a chance, and he hadn’t taken it. Splinter- and the name rolls so much easier off Donnie’s tongue than _father_ does these days- had known he was going to die, and he’d said _nothing._ They could have prevented it, planned for it, and if not that-

-then maybe they could have at least said goodbye. Then maybe _Donnie_ could have said goodbye. And the fact that his father _didn’t even try to_ burns and hurts so much worse than the tequila and tears do.

Maybe they hadn’t had much in common, maybe Donnie and his father had drifted more and more as he grew up, but Donnie had _loved his father._ _Still_ loves him. Even after this.

Donnie misses his dad, truly and deeply. He misses him even though he only said goodbye to Leo, only left Leo anything of himself, only ever paid attention to _Leo-_

“Leo was his favorite,” Donnie says, finally, after thinking that thought for so long. He says it aloud and it’s like releasing something that’d been begging to get out since forever. “Because- fuck. I don’t even know why. Like how I don’t know why he chose Leo to be the leader. At the end, he actually told Leo it wasn’t even because he had the qualities of a leader. No, it was just because Leo was _meant_ to be the leader. What kind of bullshit is that? Picking someone for something because they’re _meant_ to be that something. Not because they have good qualities, or because they have the right training, or fucking _anything other than destiny._ I’m so sick of destiny talk. It’s bullshit. And apparently, Leo was destined to be the fucking favorite son all along, and maybe I never even mattered to my father at all. Just- just one more kid to take care. Or something. Probably not, but- I’m _angry._ He could’ve told us, could have said goodbye, and he _didn’t._ He only… he only said goodbye to Leo. And then he just gave up. Left us.

“What kind of father does that? What kind of father just- _gives up_ on his life, and leaves without even saying goodbye? And- and all the shit he let Leo and Raph get away with… god. He let them… he let them do so much. To us, me and Mikey. I mean, he was always on Raph’s case for his temper, but fuck if he ever did anything when Raph was taking it out on Mikey. Or me. Or when Leo was snapping at us or- or demanding I push myself harder to meet his standards, he never said _anything._ He was-” Donnie’s throat clenches around the word, and he forces it out anyways. “- he was _neglectful_ , and _absent,_ and he never did anything to connect with me or Mikey. Ever. I can’t… I can’t even remember the last time he said something meaningful to me. It was only ever training talk, or stupid small talk, never anything that _meant_ anything.”

There’s a rum and coke drink on the table, and while Donnie forgets when Casey went and got it for him, he drinks it anyways. Slowly, because he’s past the point where he wants to drown everything, and now he’s just riding it out. The pop and rum tastes a lot better than the tequila did, and Donnie takes the drink slow.

Maybe his father had never tried to connect with him because Donnie couldn’t measure up like his siblings. Maybe Splinter had never spent time alone with Donnie because he didn’t see enough worth in it. Donnie didn’t like training, didn’t like meditating, and he wasn’t as good at those things as his brothers. Maybe his dad had loved him, but not liked him. Maybe that was why he didn’t say goodbye.

Maybe it was because Donnie had failed their family. Failed to stop the invasion, failed to heal his brother right, failed to do anything right…

“I’m a failure as a doctor, a ninja, _and_ a brother,” Donnie mumbles, miserable and sorry for himself. “And a son. Fuck.”

“You’re _not,”_ Casey says, and he starts to make the motions to shove Donnie, but the gesture turns into a pat on the shoulder instead. Donnie likes the pat better than he would have the shove. He’s sick of being shoved around. He’s too tired for it anymore.

“I _am,”_ Donnie insists.

“You’re drunk, and depressed, and a  _sad_ fuckin’ mutant. But you’re not a failure.”

“You don’t get it,” Donnie mumbles sadly, because even though Casey is his friend and isn’t exactly stupid, he obviously doesn’t get it. And then Donnie slides sideways onto Casey’s shoulder, and Casey doesn’t shove him away for that. Donnie would probably fall off the couch if he did, and he’s grateful he doesn’t have to meet the floor just yet.

“No, I don’t get it,” Casey says quietly. “But I think I’m starting to.”

There’s a blur between being on the couch, and Donnie mumbling sadly about how his older brothers were the ones who got all the attention, all the special care, and then he’s tossing the coffee table across the room because Donnie might be sad but he’s also _angry_ with his father. Angry that he’d purposefully withheld information over and over, and each time he’d only revealed it when _he_ wanted to. Not when Donnie needed it, not when _all_ of them needed it.

Like the hands. The healing hand techniques. Just out of the blue one day, his father had suddenly been able to fix any injury by muttering a bunch of _words_ , and why hadn’t he told Donnie about that? Why hadn’t he said something, when Donnie was memorizing medical textbooks at thirteen forwards and backwards, because they were all freaks of nature and _no one would help them if they got sick._ Why hadn’t his father revealed his miracle cure when Donnie had been beaten up by a mutant ape, or when his arm had been wrenched out of its socket, or when any of his brothers had had a similar injury? Why hadn’t he said _anything_ to Donnie, while Donnie had been fighting against the odds to pull together enough medical knowledge to keep his brothers alive and well?

And telling them that he had nothing left to teach them, when Donnie had _known_ that wasn’t true. He knew it then, and he knows it now, and it frustrates and confuses him and makes him see red. Because _hey, seeing as they’re all now without a guardian of any sort, it might have been nice to know every trick he never taught them, because the world still wants them_ dead _and that’s never going to change._ Not now, not ever. And maybe it was to prevent them from following a path like the Shredder had, or some misguided attempt keep them from ever becoming the monsters people called them as, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d kept information that could save their lives one day, and let it die with him.

Leo was the only one their father ever taught the healing techniques to. He hadn’t even _tried_ with Donnie, even though _Donnie was their doctor,_ and not Leo. It was always Leo who got those things from their father, special clan knowledge that none of their other siblings were allowed to know because _leaders only._

Maybe their dad had just loved Leo that much more, and hadn’t even thought he was doing anything wrong.

And yet.

Donnie misses his dad. He misses his brothers. He misses his _home._

Even if it was really bad sometimes, and just barely okay at other times, at least they’d been _together._ Donnie had run away with Mikey, built them a new home and tried to create new lives, but he still wants to go back sometimes. To when it was good, those moments and days where it was like they were kids again, and it was less complicated, less wrong.

“I hate him,” Donnie whispers, harsh and low. Because even with drunk senses and the safety of a listening ear, he’s still scared to say it. “I hate him for keeping all that stuff from us, and not saying goodbye. And I hate him for not stopping Leo or Raph when they’d hit Mikey, or yell at me, or- everything they did to us, and he never even tried to stop it. I don’t know if he even noticed. I miss him though. I miss him… so much…”

They’re leaning against the wall now, on the floor opposite to where Donnie had tossed the table and their empty drinks. The room is a mess and Donnie is _still crying_ , but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all anymore. He’s tired and he’s hurting and he just wants it to stop, just for a moment.

He wants his dad back. The one that’s still living in his memories. The one that had a kind smile and soft words and would make everything okay by holding Donnie in a hug. The one that hadn’t watched them run right into war, and done nothing to stop them.

“I’m sorry,” Casey whispers back, still letting Donnie lean his full weight on his side. “I… I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Donnie mumbles, and he raises a wobbly hand to wipe at his eyes. Casey hasn’t made any comments about the crying, and he doesn’t start then. He lets Donnie keep being pathetic and miserable, and Donnie can’t thank him enough for that.

“I still love him, though. Still miss him every single day,” Donnie says, blindly looking across the dark room they’re sitting in. Casey had turned off the lights once Donnie had gone past the point of tipsiness and into drunkness, and Donnie appreciates that. “My brothers too. I miss them all.”

“I know,” Casey says. “You keep sayin’ so.”

“Doesn’t make it any less… painful,” Donnie says, and his throat closes up again.

He’s winding down. He can feel the need to pass out on the edge of his senses, and he’s ready to. Blissful and quiet darkness is so much better than being awake, where everything is too hard to bear almost all the time.

Maybe he is depressed. He’s been holding off putting any one label to himself, because he _is_ an amateur with mental health still. And he always will be, because he can’t get a degree or go to school at all. He has to make do with the internet and salvaged textbooks and his own intuition. Maybe he’s depressed and he’s never going to be able to get the right help, because there’s no coverage for _‘giant mutant turtle’_ in any insurance company packages.

Donnie laughs, croaky and tired, and he doesn’t explain to Casey why he is.

Donnie just… misses his family, and misses being able to trust blindly. Misses feeling loved.

Casey’s scrawny, but solid presence, is helping with those things. A lot. Or maybe that’s the alcohol talking, and Donnie is an idiot. He takes comfort in it anyways, and keeps talking about everything pent up inside him.

“Do you still hate me?” Donnie asks, after things have started dying down in his brain. He feels disconnected and floaty, and the question comes out easily. “You said so multiple times before.”

“You? Nah. You’re like- my sec- third? Third best friend. Or something. Maybe second. This f-fiasco might’ve made you second.”

“Really? I’m honored. And all I took was baring my soul and crying pathetically.”

“You’re still a fuckin’ nerd, though. A _sad_ nerd, but a nerd anyways. A snerd.”

Donnie is _definitely_ drunk, because _“snerd”_ makes him snort, and actually laugh for real. Not bitter laughter, but _hey this is kind of really funny_ laughter.

“You’re a…” Donnie wants to say _asshole,_ but that’s not true right now. “You’re a good friend, Casey.”

Casey turns his head, and gives Donnie a look. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“…you’re drunk,” Casey says, shaking his head.

“Yeeeeah… that too. But still. Thank you for the- the _completely_ ill-advised plan to get me drunk, and then sticking around to listen to my shit.”

“You’re a crying drunk, an angry drunk, _and_ an emotional drunk. The fuck, you’re giving me, like, vertigo or something.”

“Wrong context for that. Wrong- wrong usage in general.”

“Fuck _ooooff._ I’m- I’m kind of drunk too. Shut up.”

 _“You_ shut up,” Donnie mumbles, which only makes Casey laugh for some reason, and it draws another laugh out of Donnie.

Things blur completely after that, and before Donnie knows it or wants to know it- he’s waking up on the floor of the station living room, and feeling like someone put his brain in the blender and hit puree.

He tilts his head towards whatever had woken him up, and he sees Mikey kneeling on the floor by his head. Donnie blinks sluggishly, and his eyes feel sticky and gross.

“Evening, sunshine,” Mikey says quietly, giving Donnie a smile. “You smell and look like shit.”

Donnie can only groan, and roll onto his other side away from Mikey. _Ugh,_ everything is too bright already and the living room lights aren’t even on yet. There’s just the kitchen’s light spilling out into the room, and Mikey seems to be the culprit of that fact.

“How long… how long have I been out?” Donnie asks, voice feeling like sandpaper.

“Since last night. You guys slept all day.”

Donnie then hears a muffled groan from somewhere nearby, and figures that Casey feels about as good as Donnie does.

“You guys drank _way_ too much,” Mikey says in a scolding tone, and that elicits groans from both Donnie and Casey. “Seriously. There’s cans and stuff everywhere. I’m kinda surprised one of you isn’t dead.”

“Casey Jones can’t be… can’t be killed by _alcohol,”_ Casey says, clearly trying to sound valiant, but only managing to sound sick.

“Maybe not, but I think it gave it a good shot,” Donnie mumbles. _Shot,_ yes, such a pleasant term for things. Donnie is never drinking again and he blames Casey completely for what’s happened.

Mikey tsk’s at them both, and pats Donnie’s aching skull gently. “You two lumps stay on the floor a little longer. I’mma get you some barf buckets and water, since I’m guessin’ that’s what comes next here.”

Mikey stands up and goes, and Donnie mumbles a “ _thank you”_ after him. Alone in the living room again, Donnie struggles with his hazy mind to remember what he needs to do now. Right, Casey. He needs to know if Casey is going to… tell on them.

Such a bland term for such a terrifying idea, but Donnie is too hungover to come up with something fancier.

So he rolls over on his side, again, and faces towards where Casey is flat on his back and covering his eyes. Casey’s bandana is missing, and his hoodie looks more than slept in, and Donnie thinks that his friend might be swearing the same oath Donnie is about never drinking, _ever,_ again.

“So are you going to tell where we are?” Donnie asks, getting straight to the point because everything hurts still and he doesn’t want to bother with anxiety. Yes or no, thanks. He wants this over with.

“…no,” Casey mumbles after a long moment. “No I’m not gonna say anything to your bros. Might- might punch them once or twice. But like- fuck. This is really… shitty.” A pause, and then, “Actually. Yeah, I’m going to punch them both into next Tuesday. Just watch me.”

Donnie doesn’t even grimace at the threats, and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s too tired to, or because he doesn’t care. Maybe, even, a part of him is glad to hear the threats.

“So you believe me?” Donnie asks, throat still scratchy and hoarse. “Raph’s… he’s your best friend. You’re really going to side with us?”

Donnie is wary because, in his mind, which is admittedly biased and highly suspicious, Casey siding with him on anything sounds impossible. Especially when it came down to choosing him or Raph.

“Raph is my best bud, but he is also apparently a huge douchecanoe, and now it’s my job to kick his ass for that,” Casey states boldly. Donnie raises an eye-ridge, because said statement is less intimidating when Casey currently resembles death boiled over. Casey seems to sense the look, and he lifts his arms to give Donnie one right back. And despite the paleness to his complexion, there’s an amount of certainty in Casey’s expression.

Donnie isn’t sure what to do with the certainty, or the fact that Casey actually seems to be… on his side, for once, for real.

“Gonna say some feels-y stuff right now, so get ready,” Casey says, and he keeps his gaze level with Donnie as he does. And before Donnie can respond, Casey takes a deep breath, and says, “I’m sorry I didn’t see this shit when it started to get bad, and that I didn’t see it the whole time it went on. I’m best friends with Raph, but I’m you an’ Mikey’s friend too. And even if I _wasn’t,_ I should’ve stepped in. Because that shit you’re telling me has been going on? Fuck that. That’s not okay _at all,_ and I’m pissed my own best friend did that to you guys. Leo too. And your _dad,_ Christ.”

Casey rubs his face, and turns completely on his side to face Donnie. Donnie can’t summon any coherent amount of words to respond to Casey’s, because he… really wasn’t expecting that. At all.

“You guys’ve been… dealing with so much, and I never saw any of it,” Casey says, and he looks frustrated with himself. Deeply so. “I mean. I only got the one lil sis, and I figured that maybe brothers worked differently, and since you all aren’t exactly human either… I couldn’t tell if it was wrong or not. And I guess… I just ignored it. Should’ve said something anyways. I’m sorry, Don. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Donnie thought he’d cried himself out hours ago, but looks like he was wrong. There’s a mist over his eyes for a moment, and he blinks it away as discretely as he can. _Mortification, thy name I know well._

But it’s a small price to pay, honestly, for Casey’s support. For anyone’s support.

 _“Thank you,”_ Donnie manages, and as much as he’d like to make things wordier than that, he’s busy shoving his emotions as far down as he can, and pushing his stomach down with them. Tequila is never going in him ever again.

Casey gives a one shoulder shrug, and nods. His hair musses worse, and just makes him look like even more of a hungover mess.

“How come you didn’t go to April though?” Casey asks after a moment, and he gives Donnie a questioning look. “You two are tight, but you haven’t replied to anything she’s sent you this whole time. I know for sure, ‘cause she was actually really pissed for a while there. Mellowed out after she found you two, though.”

Donnie vaguely remembers that piece of information being given to him last night, and recalls how it’d felt to hear it. Mostly, his rush of relief and gratitude for April’s trust and protection had been shoved aside by his panic about Casey, but it’d been there. It’d been there and Donnie, for a split second, had felt unburdened by at least one of his countless worries.

And then the reasons of why he hadn’t been talking to her in the first place had come back to him, and he’d shoved the freeing feeling away for later.

There’s too much to explain, about April and his increasingly complicated relationship with her, at least from his view, so Donnie settles with saying, “Same reason for me not talking to you. Sort of. I wasn’t entirely sure if you guys would be… trustworthy.”

Casey grimaces at that, and Donnie automatically hurries to cover his insult. “I’m sorry. It’s not- it’s not that I don’t trust you guys, but with this, and our brothers, and the hiding-”

Casey shushes him loudly, and puts a hand over his face as he grimaces deeper. “No- no apologizing. My head hurts too much for that, and you did it plenty last night. I get it, and I’m pretty sure April got it too. This is a _sensitive subject,_ and we gotta treat it right. Or something. She said that, not me. I mostly just want to punch someone right now.”

“Right now?” Donnie questions, because despite their serious conversation topics, they are still lying on the floor surrounded by empty cans and bottles. And very, _very_ hungover, if he might add.

“…maybe not _right_ now. But soon. Like, whenever I can stand up and not _throw_ up.”

Donnie instinctively feels like he should be stressing still, be worrying himself into knots about April and their brothers, but he is very hungover and very tired of doing those things. So instead of doing that, he laughs at Casey’s pain, then regrets laughing because he is _also_ in pain, and puts his anxious thoughts aside for later.

“You are both the _most_ irresponsible people _ever,”_ Mikey says when he comes back, two plastic bowls under his arm and two plastic cups in his hands. He gives Donnie another scolding look as he hands two of the items Donnie. “And to think, you’re supposed to set a better example than this for your innocent younger brother. For shame.”

“Mikey, shut up,” Casey mutters darkly. “You’re about as innocent as downtown New York.”

Mikey sticks his tongue out at him, but places the cup of water and the bowl next to Casey’s head anyways. “I’ll have you know I am the _most_ innocent. The absolute innocent-est.”

Donnie wants to roll his eyes at Mikey, but he’s too busy pushing himself up onto his elbows, and then sitting up, and trying not to throw up the whole process. His mouth tastes like he’s eaten something rancid and months old, and his stomach tries to react accordingly. “Casey,” Donnie manages to say, leaning heavily against the foot of the couch. “You have the _worst plans ever._ I’m never letting you talk me into this again.”

“That’s fair,” Casey replies in an equally miserable tone. “I’m never letting me talk _me_ into this again.”

“So either of you up for an evening jog? Some training? Maybe a spontaneous dance party?” Mikey asks, and Donnie can just _hear_ the shit-eating grin he’s got. “We could get IC kitty and some lasers for it!”

“Stop enjoying our pain,” Donnie mumbles, weakly swiping at Mikey’s ankles with his leg. Mikey lets Donnie land the blow, and just laughs at how light it was.

“Nope!” Mikey replies brightly, and that earns a groan from Casey and Donnie both.

Despite his obvious amusement at their severe and self-inflicted pain, Mikey stays quiet the whole time it takes for them to get back on their feet, and actually helps out a lot. Even going so far as emptying and washing Casey’s bucket once he tries, and fails, to sit up.

Eventually, and it’s an arduous process getting there, Casey is upright and not liable to die on the side of the street as he heads home. It’s a good thing that he’d texted his dad and sister that he was spending the night, and then the day, and then the _next_ night with a friend. Otherwise, there would have been a large mess for them all to deal with, and Donnie doesn’t need yet another one in his life.

Casey still resembles death when he finally makes it to the door, and Donnie follows after him, swaddled in a blanket that he isn’t taking off until he stops feeling clammy and ill. Casey’s bandana is still missing, similar to how Donnie’s mask is, and they’re both too tired to search for their trademark looks. They got lost somewhere in the transitions between crying and yelling and then crying again last night, and Donnie doesn’t think they’re going to find either for a while.

There’s a split second pause at the exit of the station, and Donnie’s goodbye is on the tip of his tongue when Casey tugs him into an abrupt hug. It’s a surprise, but it only takes a second for Donnie to return the gesture.

“Take care of yourselves,” Casey says, giving Donnie a tight squeeze. “And call April. She’ll wanna hear about all of this.”

“I will, thank you again,” Donnie replies, and he gives Casey just as tight a hug.

As they step back from one another, Casey gives Donnie a jerky nod, and then says, “Cool. I’m going to go beat up your brothers a bunch now, so you guys just hang tight until I sort this out.”

Casey starts to walk away, and Donnie grabs his shoulder before he can. “Nope, no you are not.”

“Why the fuck not? They deserve at least a _little_ bit of punching.”

Donnie grimaces, and then sighs. “Maybe. Maybe they do, but… I don’t feel like you punching my brothers will fix this.”

Casey shrugs off Donnie’s light grip, and slouches with a scowl _._ “It’ll fix me being pissed with my friends,” He mutters under his breath, and Donnie finds himself smiling wryly. He hadn’t expected Casey support in this, and the overwhelming support he _has_ shown is still something Donnie is trying to wrap his head around.

“I… I have to actually talk with my brothers,” Donnie says, even though he still very much dreads that plan of action. It has to be done, though. Eventually. “We can’t just solve this by punching each other. It’d probably just make things even worse than they already are.”

“Which is why it’d be _me_ punching them right now, not you,” Casey says insistently, and Donnie just shakes his sore feeling head. Casey huffs, and hunches his shoulders a bit more. “ _Fine._ I won’t try to solve this for you. But I definitely can’t guarantee I’m not gonna slug them at least once, next time I see their faces.”

Donnie considers telling Casey he can’t punch his brothers at all, but…

“Just _once,”_ Donnie allows. Because while he’s hungover, and mostly past the emotional break he’d had last night, there’s still anger in him. Tired, hurt anger, and the idea of acting it out physically is a tempting option for release.

“Each?” Casey asks, a note of hope in his voice.

“…each.”

“Sweet. I’ll call later, whenever I’m done cussing them out.”

“Are you going to do it while you still look like a corpse walking?” Donnie asks teasingly, because Casey does look like that, and has a very obvious lilt to how he’s walking.

“Shut up. Maybe.” Casey then grimaces, probably feeling a migraine twinge again. “Okay, maybe not tonight. Tomorrow though. I’ll get them. I swear.”

Donnie rolls his eyes, and wonders just how badly that conflict is going to go. Probably terribly, and he’s doing his best not to care. “Good luck with that, Jones.”

“Thanks, but I won’t need it,” Casey replies haughtily.

Donnie shoves Casey’s shoulder, and Casey shoves back, and then things feel normal again. Sort of, at least, because they’re both hungover and angry, and there’s a big change coming for their group. But Donnie is choosing to ignore all those things, and just enjoy having a warm blanket over his shoulders and the support of a friend.

Casey salutes Donnie one last time, and disappears out into the tunnels. Donnie lingers until his friend is gone from sight, and then he returns to his… very messy living room, which he is going to have to clean up. Donnie sighs, kicking a bottle out of his way as he goes, and figures it’s not such a bad price for what’s come out of the night. Yes he’s hungover, yes his brain feels like mush, yes he had to reveal a lot of things he never wanted to tell anyone _ever-_

But it doesn’t feel as bad as the pit had, which has closed a fair ways in his chest. His anxiety is dulled and he doesn’t feel the need to worry over a hundred little things at the moment. All in all, not the _worst_ plan Casey has ever had.

Donnie catches Mikey’s voice in the other room, and peeks through the kitchen’s drapes to see who Mikey is talking to. And, to Donnie’s deep surprise, he’s on the phone.

“A-huh? Really?” Mikey says, swinging his feet as he sits on the kitchen table. He hums into the phone receiver, and seems to be listening intently. “No, he didn’t. Huh… and? No, no I will…”

Donnie doesn’t _think_ it sounds like Mikey is talking to their brothers, and Leatherhead doesn’t have a phone to call with, far as he knows, so who…?

Mikey hangs up after saying goodbye, and then turns a serious look towards Donnie. Donnie swallows, and stands a bit straighter.

“That was Casey,” Mikey says, putting his phone down on the table as he does. “He says you told him a lot of really bad stuff last night, and I’m pretty sure most of that stuff isn’t stuff you’ve told me. He’s also says we’re gonna need to talk about that stuff, or he’s gonna come back and hold you to the couch until we do. And I agree with him.”

Donnie blinks, and then lets his tense shoulder drop again. He rubs his icky feeling cheek tiredly, and nods. “I guess we could talk about… some of that stuff.”

“Nah, bro, _all_ of that stuff,” Mikey says firmly. He drops off the table, and approaches Donnie, and Donnie looks Mikey in the eye as he does. His brother doesn’t look angry, but Donnie is wary. Then, Donnie admonishes himself for feeling that way. Because they’re supposed to be trying things differently now, and being wary of his brother’s anger isn’t a part of that different.

“Hey,” Mikey says, putting a hand on Donnie’s blanket covered arm. His serious look changes into a sympathetic one, and he gives Donnie’s bicep a squeeze. “I’ve told you lots of stuff already, so you should return the favor. Otherwise we’re gonna get nowhere with all this, and… I want to hear what you have to say. Really.”

Donnie looks at Mikey for a moment longer, feeling old and wrung out and bone deep exhausted-

-and then he closes his eyes, sighs, and lets his head drop a bit.

“Okay,” Donnie says, quiet and ready. “Let’s talk.”

And as Mikey pulls him into a hug, firm and familiar, Donnie lets his blanket fall to the floor and returns the embrace.

He’s ready, now. Ready to talk to Mikey, and ready to move forwards. He’s ready to try trusting again, and he’s ready to try speaking truthfully again.

And after they’re done talking, done exchanging words that’ve built up in both of them, and tried their best to make sense of the snarled mess those words are- Donnie goes to get his phone, and opens it up to contacts.

He hesitates for a moment, because it’s late at night, and there’s no guarantee anyone will answer. Then, he dials the number anyways, and holds his phone to his ear. Listening to the dial tone ring, waiting patiently for an answer or not. The line clicks, and then-

_“Hello? Donnie?”_

Donnie smiles, and he feels better already just for hearing her voice. Until that second, he hadn’t known how much he’d really missed her. “Hey, April. Sorry I’ve been…”

 _“It’s alright. I understand why you did.”_ April says, and Donnie can hear in her voice that she means those things. _“How have you been, though? Are you feeling alright?”_

Donnie evaluates his mind, his body, and where he is at the moment. He’s hungover, but it’s not so bad now that Mikey has made him tea and turned all the lights down. His stomach hurts, but there’s warm food fixing that already. And he’s in his lab, his new one, in his new home with his younger brother who’s giving him space to do this. His younger brother who listened to what Donnie had to say, and gave him a ten minute hug afterwards, because Mikey cares that Donnie was and is upset, and is trying to fix that best he can.

Donnie is warm, and safe, and now he’s got three people who will listen to him. Believe him.

So Donnie says, “I think I’m feeling pretty good.”

And he means it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel many emotions over donatello, mostly because I have been in a very similar state of mind before.
> 
> the self-blame, the endless questioning, the action of tying it all back to yourself and not others. it's hard to leave that behind.
> 
> i'm still not completely past it, but i'm trying.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The youngest child is always the last. The last to learn things, the last to grow up, and the last to find their place in life.
> 
> That should not include being the last to be respected, or heard, or loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a moment of your time, please.
> 
> i'd like to just draw attention to the fact that in the episode where they entered mikey's mind, out of all the emotions and factors to his surface personality... Anger was the biggest.
> 
> i feel most of us forget that.

 

 

Mikey’s throat burns, itchy and hot. Or maybe that’s his head. Or maybe it’s just both of them at the same time.

His fingers tap restlessly against the wooden counter, his feet starting to jitter too. He’s supposed to be listening to someone else, but right now all he can hear are echoes and memories knocking around his head that just won’t _stop._

He swallows thick and bitterly, and tastes his own anger. It’s like bile on his tongue and he hates it just as much as he hates the scenes playing through his head.

Raph’s hands, Leo’s words, vice versa and combined, and Donnie’s _listlessness,_ the blank way he’s always opting out, always drifting away just when Mikey needs him most, and he hates those things so much, but he also hates how Donnie does that because he can’t handle what’s been said and done to him, and how Mikey’s sometimes the cause of him doing that he’s not blameless and how it all _still hurts,_ all those things, and they’re both so fucked up and it’s not _fair_ because they left they left and this _shouldn’t be bothering Mikey anymore-_

“Michelangelo?”

Leatherhead’s gravelly voice snaps Mikey out of his spiraling, infuriating thoughts, and he blinks back to where he’s supposed to be.

They’re in Murakami’s shop. Leatherhead carefully squeezed into the room to lean halfway onto the counter, enjoying soup and sushi as he visits with a fellow old man and the rest of them. Mondo darting around behind the counter with Murakami, dressed in his apron and cooking clothes specially fitted for him, showing off what the old chef has been teaching him the last few months. Mikey sitting at the counter, spacing out and building up stupid, pointless anger that he should’ve just left ignored.

All of them are staring at him.

Mikey violently shoves away his anger, and gives them an innocent look. “Sorry! Yikes, I _totally_ zonked out, _”_ Mikey says, wincing comically as he rubs the back of his neck. “What’d I miss again?”

Leatherhead gives him a measured look, and replies, “We were just wondering if you would also like to try Mondo’s new dish.” He gestures one large hand at Mondo, who’s holding up a bowl of soup from the pot he and Murakami have been attending to this whole time. “I’ve had a sip, and it’s very good. I highly recommend it.”

“Is something troubling you, Michelangelo?” Murakami asks, turning his head towards Mikey, and it feels like the older human is staring at him despite having no sight. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight, most uncharacteristic of you.”

That’s right. Murakami is right; it _is_ out of character for Mikey to be quiet around people. He just can’t shut up, _ever_ , because he’ll run his stupid little mouth until his voice is hoarse or someone shuts him up by force. Raph had done that, usually. Whenever he got sick of Mikey’s words, sick of Mikey’s opinions, sick of _Mikey-_

“I’m a little tired, I guess,” Mikey says with a shrug, keeping his swells of anger well and hidden. No one needs to hear those things. They’re… not him, not okay to show to people.

Anger is gross. It hurts people and it hurts for Mikey to have. Better he just never show it at all.

Leatherhead’s hand on his shell is welcomed, because it gives Mikey something to focus on that’s not his own stupid, stupid emotions. “If you are too tired to stay out much later, we can leave,” Leatherhead offers with a rumble. “You are going through a very trying time, Michelangelo. We won’t ask you to push yourself unnecessarily.”

The obvious and warm comfort leatherhead is extending to Mikey gives him the strength to push down the anger, to shove it far far far down where it can’t touch him anymore or poison his thoughts. And he smiles for his friend. “Nah, I’m good,” Mikey says, normal and bright again. “It’s actually ‘cause I’m _so_ craving some of that soup there, so gimme gimme, Mondo!”

Mondo beams, and brings over the bowl and platter to Mikey. “I’ve been workin’ on the recipe for _weeks,_ bro,” Mondo says proudly, squaring his small shoulders and presenting the dish. His thick tail waves happily behind him as he does. “Mr. Murakami’s been great about it, too. I didn’t even _know_ about half the ingredients he showed me!”

“That is because they are spices, and most Americans do not seem to know about those things,” Murakami says with a laugh.

Mikey grins, and takes the hot bowl of soup off the platter to sip from it. Spoons are kind of useless for him pretty often, because most ones are so _teeny tiny_ in his hands and never manage to hold all the food he needs them to and hey, maybe there really was something  to his brothers always saying he has a _big mouth._

The soup burns his tongue a bit. Mikey swallows it anyways, because it burns less than the resurging anger in him.

But if he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t speak it, _it’s not actually there._ And he’s sticking to that.

“ _Delicious,_ more please!” Mikey exclaims, holding the empty bowl out to Mondo. He hadn’t even tasted it, really. He’s not tasting much of anything right now.

Mondo beams again with all his little white teeth, and rushes off to fill up Mikey’s bowl. At least Mikey’s friend is happy, even though he doesn’t have parents either. They’d tossed him out the moment he’d shown his mutated face, and Mikey… still feels kinda bad for the guy. Sure Mondo’s got the Mutanimals, and Leatherhead is an A++ old man to chill with, but… it ain’t anything close to having a mom or dad. Mikey doesn’t know how Mondo could lose that and keep going-

Oh wait.

Yeah he does.

For a moment, grief overtakes the anger, and Mikey swims in his rush of sheer _loss_.

His dad, tall and forever untouchable, always there always strong always watching- _unbeatable_. Except no he wasn’t. He got killed, same as anyone else could, and he wasn’t actually always there, wasn’t always watching, wasn’t always… his dad.

His dad had been more so his Sensei, and Mikey had never been his favorite student. Ever.

Well, there goes his grief, and in its place-

 _Hello, anger,_ Mikey thinks dark and bitterly, _long time no see._

And he swallows it all back down again, and does his best to ignore and pretend and space out in the right way that’s expected of him. He plays at being the Mikey he’s supposed to be- _bright, cheerful, silly, perfectly happy all the time-_ and doesn’t let slip again for the rest of the night.

He hates being angry, and he hates showing it even more. _Especially_ to his friends. They don’t deserve that, not when they’ve stayed with him the whole while since he and Donnie broke up their family. Anger hurts people, and Mikey doesn’t want to hurt any of his friends. At all.

But maybe he doesn’t hide it as well as he thought- which is weird, because none of his brothers have ever noticed- and Leatherhead stops him as they part for the night.

“If you will not talk to me about what’s troubling you,” Leatherhead says, keeping his voice low enough the still talking Mondo and Murakami can’t hear. “Then please talk to Donatello, at least. Your brother will listen, Michelangelo. It’s what family is for.”

A momentary, and very inappropriate, bubble of laughter tries to escape Mikey. _Yeah, right._ When did _any_ of his brothers listen to him?

 _Donnie does, has been, he’s_ trying, Mikey reminds himself forcefully. Donnie _is_ trying, and it’s just Mikey’s who’s not speaking about some of his crappy thoughts.

Maybe he should try talking about the anger, just a little.

“I… guess,” Mikey says finally, awkwardly skirting having to outright admit he’s got something bothering him. “I dunno. If Donnie’s up for it? Maybe.”

Leatherhead gives him a great big hug, just for that, and Mikey tries to hold onto the affection of that gesture rather than the squirming emotions in his chest.

Mikey exchanges fist bumps with Mondo and Murakami before he goes, and he grins like he doesn’t have weird exhaustion and aches tugging at his body. He heads back to the station, following the new paths he’s been familiarizing himself with for quickest travel from their new home. It’s late in the night, nearing morning, and even though Mikey doesn’t really want to…

He’ll give talking a shot. He’s talked about other hard stuff, mostly with Leatherhead, so how much harder could this topic be? Never mind that he hates even thinking about it, right down into his bones, and never mind that he doesn’t think Donnie even _knows_ how angry Mikey can get.

Never mind all that; they’re on a fresh start, a blank slate, a brand new adventure where it’s just them and they actually _talk_ instead of poking and snapping all the time.

Mikey brings up his confidence with shaky force- it’s getting harder to do that lately and he has no idea _why-_ and ducks into his new home to share something with his brother. Something he’s been ignoring and hiding and pretending doesn’t exist at all for a long, long time.

The smell of alcohol hits him immediately.

And then he finds his brother. And _Casey._

And Mikey can’t compute the situation he’s seeing before him.

And then the anger comes back, bright and hateful, and Mikey barely, just _barely_ bites it all down into submission again.

Donnie brought Casey into their home, _without telling Mikey._ He got drunk and then passed out with their friend, _the one night Mikey was really going to talk to him._ He trashed their living room that Mikey helped build with him, _like it didn’t mean anything at all._

Donnie is well and truly asleep, and Mikey stands alone in the dark with bitter, _bitter_ anger on his tongue. His brother won’t be listening to him at all tonight, obviously.

Mikey snarls without sound, and storms out of the living room. Leaving Donnie and Casey to the fun they’d gone and had _without him_ , and carelessly slamming his door shut behind him.

He crawls into his bed without bothering to brush his teeth, or get Donnie and Casey into actual places to sleep, or even covering them up with blankets so they don’t freeze on the floor-

-and he ignores all those things he _should_ be doing, and instead tries not to let the twisting, snarling knots in his chest keep him awake all day.

 

 

 

Mikey wakes up the next evening, and feels like a dick.

It’s not Donnie’s fault Mikey was having a crappy night. He didn’t know Mikey was going to try talking about gross stuff he’s never even hinted about before. And heck, like anyone can keep Casey from doing what he wants, including worming his way into your home and starting a party.

Donnie and Casey are still passed out where Mikey left them last night, and he sighs at the both of them. There’s only a faint hint of his residual frustration, and it’s easily enough ignored. He starts by waking Donnie up, and from there he does his best to forget he’d ever been so mad at his brother.

Mikey starts poking at the mess Donnie and Casey made, while the two of them go have a _private moment_ as Donnie sees Casey off, and he finds a mostly still full bottle of alcohol.

He stares at it, lying on the carpet with its cap on and most of its liquid safely inside. He considers it for a moment, wondering what he should do.

Then he picks it up, and puts it in his room before Donnie comes back. Why he does, he’s not really sure. It probably has to do with the dull buzz of hurt he’s still got; because even though he’s trying not to be, he’s frustrated Donnie called Casey over and had a party together without even bothering to text it was happening.

Mikey feels left out and more than a little ignored. He hasn’t felt that in a few weeks, and it’s not a fun thing to feel again.

It feels too much like how it felt at home, in the _lair,_ with their _brothers,_ with their _father-_ and Mikey shoves the hurt anger deep, deep down into himself and forces his brain to forget about it.

Donnie didn’t do it on purpose. Probably. Casey tended to whip Donnie into all sorts of moods and frenzies, and who could focus on anything else when hurricane Jones was blowing through? Not Donnie, that’s for sure.

And then Casey calls Mikey, when he’s wandering the kitchen and looking for any other leftover alcohol, and Mikey suddenly feels like even more of a dick.

 _“He says it’s his fault your- fuck, that_ he’s _the reason your dad is dead,”_ Casey says in a low, harsh voice; putting stones and glass in Mikey’s stomach. Gone is Casey’s vagueness from earlier, the maintained hungover humor that he and Donnie have been sharing. Maybe he hadn’t been as out of it as Mikey had thought. _“He cried all over the place, Mike. All over_ me, _and you know it’s bad if he’s done that. Did you know about any of that shit?”_

Mikey’s head is kinda tilting a direction he doesn’t like, and he has to swallow around a lump in his throat. “No,” He says, somehow still steady. “I didn’t know that… at all.”

_“Well. He spent like half the night talking about it, so I think it’d be a good idea you make ‘im talk about it again. Other stuff, too. Bad stuff.”_

“What bad stuff?” Mikey asks, and a part of him doesn’t want to hear the answer. And he’s right, he doesn’t want to hear about how Donnie’s been keeping all these things in; blaming himself for their dad’s death, Leo’s coma, and countless other things Mikey is pretty sure he had no control over. And yet, Donnie had said it was all his fault, and slapped a claim over some of the worst shit that keeps Mikey awake most days.

Donnie hadn’t been having a party with Casey. He’d been having a vent session that should’ve happened months ago.

Mikey wonders why Donnie never told him the things he’d told Casey. He wonders that, while listening as Casey rambles on about things Donnie had said, about things he’s going to go yell at their brothers, and Mikey arrives to a conclusion.

Donnie still doesn’t trust him, doesn’t think Mikey could handle hearing those things.

An insidious whisper in his brain says it’s because Donnie thinks he’s too stupid to get it, too much the youngest brother to understand big things like self-blame and grief and shitty thoughts.

Mikey stomps on that thought and ignores it.

He takes Casey’s advice, after hearing what his friend swears is just the _bare bones_ of what Donnie’s got all smushed up inside him, and corners his brother immediately. They are _talking,_ and then they are _hugging,_ and Mikey is going to show Donnie he’s _perfectly capable_ of handling this.

Except.

He’s not sure he actually can.

Because when Mikey finally gets Donnie onto the couch, listening and waiting, and he actually hears what Donnie has to say… he falters.

Mikey hadn’t known about any of these things, hadn’t even thought they might exist. Hadn’t thought about how much pressure they’d been placing on Donnie, or how Leo’s words and their father’s words and _all of their words_ had hurt him so much. He’d known it’d been hard, but…

He hadn’t known just how hard it really was. Not entirely.

Maybe Mikey played a part in those things- twitchy and ignorant and just doing whatever the hell he pleased because _hey, he was always getting scolded anyways, what was one more brother yelling at him-_ but largely it’d been their brothers. Their father.

And Mikey’s anger _burns._

Because Donnie, who is always tall, always unfaltering in his dedication and hard work, is just too wrung out to give much more. He says in a wavering voice that there’s just _not enough of him left._ And he’s hunching over his knees, words tumbling out fast and painful, and the way his voice cracks is breaking Mikey’s heart and nearly his control.

Donnie is missing his mask and has bags under his eyes and looks pale as they physically can be and is just _so sad_. And Mikey isn’t sure how to fix that. He isn’t sure how to respond to Donnie’s words, his stories about how long he’s been alone and hurting and feeling like _no one_ _loved him_ , and Mikey’s sadness and anger and whirling confusion fight each other in his head.

Regret makes its way out of the fight, and Mikey pulls Donnie into the tightest, most loving hug he can manage while he represses every other thought he’s been having. Donnie’s abrupt break down is the priority right now, not Mikey’s steadily growing anger issues.

Donnie actually _sobs_ for a bit, and it’s the worst sound Mikey never _ever_ wanted to hear. Donnie is just so _broken_ sounding, the way he’s talking about always feeling tired, and always wishing things would just _stop_ for a while so he could actually _rest_ _for once_. He’s shaking and _still crying_ and Mikey can’t do anything other than cling tighter to his brother and say he loves him, and he’s _sorry._

It takes a while, and a lot of very tight clinging on Mikey’s (useless) part, and then Donnie drags himself back together enough to wipe away his tears. He manages a weak smile at the lame sounding reassurances from Mikey- _“Don’t worry, Dee. If you’re really that tired, I swear I’ll do your half of the dishes tonight.”-_ and then, with Mikey’s encouragement, goes to make a phone call he really needs to.

They don’t talk about Mikey at all. Mikey doesn’t try to bring his own emotions into things, period.

Donnie can’t handle that, not right now. Mikey’s stupid feelings aren’t big enough to need talking about yet; and they _are_ stupid, because why is he bothering with stuff that he’s already kind of talked about with Leatherhead, and then sworn he wouldn’t think about anymore.

Donnie’s got his own problems, and he’s the one in need of help right now. Not Mikey. Mikey won’t put yet another burden on Donnie’s shoulders, not after hearing about all the other ones that’ve been making him into atlas.

Mikey’s fine on his own, so he’ll keep to himself what he’d wanted to talk to Donnie about.

 

 

 

Mikey gets more nightmares than he wants to admit.

He’s always had a super active imagination, and it shows in just how vivid and detailed his dreams can get. Sometimes it’s neat, and he enjoys being able to recount every step and turn his dream self takes while he sleeps.

But sometimes it sucks. Really, really sucks.

Like dreaming he’s back in that moment, on that night, and watching his dad fall off a building and _not get back up._

Mikey can’t jolt himself awake, even though he _knows_ he’s dreaming, he _knows_ this is just a stupid memory, and he has to watch his dad fall and hit the ground with a horrible, horrible _thud_ and he’s too slow, too slow to do anything, because his dad’s chest is already torn open and gushing blood and he’s not even _breathing anymore he’s just gone and they’re too late too late and it was all pointless and he was just too **slow-**_

And Mikey’s lungs falter as he falls out of the nightmare, and he can’t do anything other than cough and gasp for a solid minute.

He’s crying. He’s crying and everything hurts just as much as it did in that moment. The realization that his unbeatable father _had_ been beaten, and that he wasn’t coming back this time. Splinter is gone, and they won’t be getting anymore miracles.

Mikey used to think everything would work itself out, no matter what happened. They’d always find a way, always beat the odds. Always go home together. Always have their dad.

In the end, they lost to the odds, broke their home, and buried their father.

Leo had said they’d won the battle, ended the war. In Mikey’s opinion, he thinks they lost it completely.

After all, what did the Shredder have left to lose at that point? Karai didn’t want him, the Foot had abandoned him, and it’d just been him and his hench-guys. Mikey and his family are the ones who lost everything, not the Shredder.

Mikey sniffles, and wipes his tears onto his pillow. Turning into the dull comfort he gets from having privacy to feel like shit, and sheets that still have a slight scent of his old room.

He considers for a moment, going to Donnie and asking to talk about their dad, about how he misses Splinter even though he’d been so absent in the last few years, but Mikey doesn’t move to get up.

Donnie is still recovering, and it’s just a stupid dream, just some stupid feelings.

Mikey’s nearly an adult now, he can handle some dumb nightmares on his own. He has for… years. Since the war had started to get bad. He hadn’t gone crying to his brothers for- _mockery, scorn, dismissal-_ for _comfort_ then, and he won’t now. Especially since Donnie is still precariously balanced with his own issues.

Mikey rolls over; smearing the last of his tears onto his pillow, and shuts his eyes to will himself back to sleep.

 

 

 

Mikey keeps out of Donnie’s way for a while, but also circles his brother and does whatever Donnie needs him to.

Whether it’s taking a bit more of their shared chores, or being extra quiet that night, or just stepping out of the station for a bit to go burn off aggravating energy so he doesn’t bother Donnie- Mikey does it, and tries to be everything he hasn’t been over the years.

He wants to be a good brother, especially right now. He wants to mend the relationship he has with Donnie, and make it stronger than before. No more driving Donnie into break downs, please. Mikey’s seen enough of that for a lifetime and then some.

Sure, Mikey is still struggling with nightmares and frustrations and _anger,_ but he’s got a handle on that. No sweat, he’s been doing this long enough now he’s an expert.

Except.

Text messages still come from their brothers, even though Mikey has noticed they’re slowing down. But it’s still enough. And with the weeks still pilling on- _six, six weeks now and counting-_ they’re getting more desperate. More angry.

Raph is so mad at him, so scared for him; he wants them both back home and safe again. Where he and Leo can watch out for them.

Raph is also confused, and wants to know what the hell they’ve been telling their friends. Apparently, _none of their friends want to talk to Mikey’s brothers anymore,_ and Raph and Leo just don’t get _why._

Mikey reads a text that’s damn close to a plead, _begging_ Mikey and Donnie to reply and at least _call them_ \- and Mikey has a horribly inappropriate moment of sharp laughter.

The laughter happens again when he finds a text from Leo, talking about how disappointed their father would have been, the two of them running away without explanation and turning all their friends against their brothers.

It happens a third time, when Raph leaves a breathlessly furious voicemail, about Casey and April turning on him and Leo and how Donnie and Mikey are _still missing-_ and Mikey just _can’t_ anymore.

He throws his phone across his room, not giving two shits about the sound of hitting the wall, and barks one more laugh before breaking into a muffled scream.

He’s just so _angry at them all._

They don’t even see it, _and its right in front of them,_ and they still don’t see it. They don’t get that they hurt Donnie, hurt Mikey, and that no, they’re _not_ coming home no matter what their brothers plead and yell at them. That their dad was a neglectful _asshole_ who only ever paid attention to them, and Mikey is having a hard time balancing that jealousy with his grief these days and it’s just turning into one big mess of _anger._

He used to be so _good_ about keeping his emotions under control. Only the happy ones were ever allowed out, or the sad ones in the right moments when it was okay to cry and whine a bit. Not anger. Never anger.

Raph gets to be angry, but not Mikey. Mikey has to be the _happy one_ , the _silly one,_ the _stupid one-_

Mikey bites his lips _hard,_ and muffles his furious scream into his hands.

Why is it suddenly getting so _hard_ to keep the anger out? Or rather, keep it _in._ Why is it suddenly such an issue to control a stupid, hurtful emotion he doesn’t even like _having?_

So his brothers still want them back. So they’re still looking for them. Great, good for them.

Mikey’s head is buzzing with anger, and he has _nowhere to aim it,_ so it just keeps _buzzing._

They don’t get what they did. Raph and Leo. Can’t tell or acknowledge it even with their whole friend group being _pretty clear_ about things. Mikey doesn’t think they’d get it even if he _screamed it in their faces._

They want them back home, ‘ _safe’_ with them and under their watch again. The thought makes Mikey’s scales crawl and bile rise up in his throat. Because _no. No more._

And maybe their father would’ve been disappointed- _so what?_ He was always disappointed in Mikey anyways, getting distracted and unable to follow what was happening and just being a general nuisance that interrupted Splinter’s time with _Raph and Leo._ Mikey doesn’t care right now what their father would’ve thought- he’s dead and he can’t give Mikey infuriatingly distant looks of _disappointment_ anymore.

Mikey misses his dad, misses his brothers, misses how things used to be-

-but right now, he’s more so _angry_ about all those things, and tries to keep silent as the rancid emotions claw at him for release.

He doesn’t let them get that release.

He shoves his phone back under his bed, _again_ , and has to ignore it for three days straight just to get his head back on right.

 

 

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Donnie. You can’t keep blaming yourself for it.”

“Za’naron wasn’t your fault either, so you can’t blame yourself for that if I can’t blame myself for- for Splinter. Dying.”

“…that was different.”

“It wasn’t really you.”

“A part of it was, though. I’m the one who gave in.”

“Yeah. Well. I’m the one who didn’t listen when I should have. So guess we can both blame ourselves a bit.”

“Donnie…”

Mikey hovers out of sight, practicing his ability to not be, and listens to his brother and April have the same conversation they’ve been having over and over the last while.

He hears April sigh, and shift on the couch. “This isn’t healthy, Donnie,” April says gently. “You can’t keep holding onto those things, or… it’ll never get better.”

“I can and I will,” Donnie mutters stubbornly. “Because they’re _true.”_

“They’re _not-”_

“Yes they are! I’m the one-”

“You’re one kid, _one person,_ and you had no control over what happened to master Splinter. It’s not your fault; it was _never_ your fault.”

Donnie falls silent for a moment, and it’s a drawn out sort of silence.

“Then why…” _Why do I feel like it is?_

Donnie doesn’t actually say the last part, but Mikey hears it anyways. It kinda sucks how clear he can hear it, and Mikey doesn’t know what to do about it anymore than he has the last week of trying to get Donnie to feel _okay_ again.

Donnie sighs, and it’s an exhausted sound. Mikey looks up at the ceiling of the hallway, and thinks quietly that Donnie doesn’t ever _not_ sound exhausted.

“…I don’t have an answer, Donnie,” April says in a hushed voice. “But I know it wasn’t your fault.”

And there’s the sound Donnie’s been making on and off lately, soft and broken. Mikey shuts his eyes and tries not to hear it too well.

Donnie’s crying again, in quiet gasps as he tries to not, and Mikey opens his eyes as April starts to shush his brother. Whispered things about how they’ll get through this, it’s not Donnie’s fault, and they’ll work it out somehow, some way…

_“It’s okay, Donnie. Just let it out. I got you. I got you…”_

Mikey takes the moment to peek into the living room, still silent and invisible. April’s got Donnie in a hug, and Mikey’s brother is hiding his face in her shoulder. April’s words and hug already seem to be calming Donnie down, and…

She’s doing this so much better than Mikey had. April knows what she’s doing, and Mikey doesn’t. She knows what to say, what’ll calm down Donnie the quickest, and… just knows how to be a better support in general.

And Donnie seems to trust her more, too. Letting this out every time April asks him to, without complaint or protest. He’s always ready to talk to her, but not…

Not Mikey.

Mikey swallows something too close to jealousy for comfort, and turns away from his brother and friend.

They deserve some privacy. He’d just been listening in for a moment, checking in on how their latest talk was going.

But April’s clearly got this, so Mikey leaves them to it. He’ll go do some quiet exercises, maybe a run above ground for a few hours. He won’t be such an annoyance if he gets rid of his excess energy.

He takes his skateboard with him as he leaves, going through the second exit so he doesn’t disturb April or Donnie. Mikey’s got his standard equipment on him too, nunchucks, smoke bombs, etc., even though the paranoia of his brothers finding them has started to ease off.

April and Casey both know where they are now, and Mikey is seriously considering bringing Leatherhead around sometime soon; so unless someone actually shows his brothers, and Mikey doubts any of their friends will, Leo and Raph aren’t finding the station any time soon. If they could’ve, they already would have.

That comfort is a small one, though. Because eventually- and that _eventually_ hangs heavy in the air sometimes- he and Donnie will have to talk to their brothers, if only to bring closure to the shit that drove them all apart.

Mikey doesn’t know how he’ll handle that. He doesn’t know how to approach the idea _at all._

But him not knowing how to do stuff is normal enough, right?

Right.

 

 

 

The station is occupied at the moment, so guess that means Mikey needs to shove off for a good while. Enough time for April and Donnie to wrap up their conversation and for Donnie to pull himself back together.

Mikey skates aimlessly for a while, not really thinking of anything in particular. He doesn’t really notice until he’s getting close, but he’d unconsciously drifted towards the Mutanimals’ hideout as he went. Mikey considers his options for a moment, and then starts heading towards Leatherhead and Mondo’s location in earnest. Spending time with the two of them should make it easy enough to shove his dumb mood aside; it’s always easier to do that for other people, instead of just himself.

He kicks his board up into his hand, and ducks in through the main entrance of the hideout. It’s not locked up, so that obviously means Mikey’s allowed to come in. His mood lifts the closer he gets to the inner rooms, and he manages to put a near spring in his step as he heads in.

Then-

He hears a voice that makes him freeze.

His heart stops and his fingers go numb, and he stands there like an idiot deer in the headlights; stuck in the last doorway into the center room of the Mutanimals’ base.

His skateboard slips from his hand. It clatters against the floor too loud to be ignored.

Raph turns around, following the sound and forgetting the conversation he’d been having with Slash.

Everything slows down, and Mikey can’t breathe.

“Mikey?” Raph says, eyes going wide. Then- _“Mikey!”_

And Mikey is already running by the time Raph even moves his feet.

He doesn’t even bother grabbing his skateboard, he just _runs,_ and he doesn’t look back. Because he knows if he _does-_

He might _listen_ to the things Raph is yelling after him. He might not be able to _keep running away._

Raph’s voice echoes through the streets as Mikey runs, and neither of them are even _trying_ to be stealthy anymore. There’s no reason to beyond ordinary humans maybe hearing them, and when _isn’t_ there yelling in New York? It’s just normal, so normal no one even _cares_ that there’s yelling outside their apartments- so why should Mikey?

With that hysterical thought in mind, Mikey pours on the speed and does his best to disappear. He blocks out Raph’s calls after him, and narrows everything down to his path ahead.

_“Mikey! MIKEY! Just wait a second- where are you going?!”_

_Away from you!_ Mikey thinks, _shrieks_ , inside his panicking mind, and then does.

He throws down a bunch of his smoke bombs, and disappears.

He leaves Raph coughing and cursing in the street below, while Mikey climbs into a boarded up building. They’re in one of the less attended to districts, so there are plenty of these buildings to find. Mikey replaces the boards across the window once he inside, and makes it look as though nothing has touched them since they went up.

He steps away from it when he’s done, tunnel vision draining away. He feels shaky in a way he hasn’t since he was fifteen and new to life or death situations. Like he’s a newbie all over again, just as inexperienced as the night he and his brothers first went out on their own.

Raph is still yelling outside. Hollering after Mikey and demanding he show himself.

Mikey takes a few more stumbling steps back from the window, and then recovers enough to become silent again.

The building he’s in looks like it used to be an apartment. Probably. All the rooms are stripped down and there’s no carpet on the rotting wooden floors.

Mikey doesn’t go farther than the back wall of the room he’s in- a kitchen, maybe- and ends up slumping against the far wall. Sinking to the floor and suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

Raph is still yelling. Still looking.

Mikey doesn’t think he’s got the concentration right now to sneak away, so he does the next best thing.

He goes quiet, and stops existing.

He stares at the window, boarded up but no sound proof, and waits for the yelling to get closer. He waits with his pulse thrumming in his ears, and lungs trying to take heaving breaths that he won’t give them.

Mikey should be standing, ready to flee, but he can’t get back up. He just sits there on the floor, and stares at the window. Terrified.

Oh god he’s so scared. And he’s such an _idiot._

He should’ve checked in with the Mutanimals. He should’ve called ahead and said _hey I’m dropping by, any chance the brothers I’m kind of hiding from right now are around?_ _Yes? Thanks, I’ll make sure to avoid them._ It would have been _just that easy,_ and _yet-_ Mikey hadn’t done it. One _stupid little step,_ just to make sure he wouldn’t come face to face with his brother.

He’s an idiot. A complete and utter _moron._

Raph’s yelling has stopped, finally.

Mikey stays where he is, curled up tightly around his knees and staring at the window as he internally berates himself.

Mikey’s not sure if he actually breathing anymore.

He isn’t sure if he wants to.

The minutes without Raph’s yelling tick by, and slowly, Mikey unwinds enough to think outside his fear and self-incrimination.

That was too close. Way too close.

He’s a fucking idiot, running around blindly like there aren’t still people looking for him. He’s always too careless, too _thoughtless._ Just like his brothers always told him he was.

Mikey’s made up of too much stupid and not enough caution, and he almost blew everything. If Raph had caught him, then everything he and Donnie have been building up would’ve been ruined.

Such. An idiot.

Mikey lets his head fall back against the wall that’s decades older than himself, and shuts his eyes. Listening to everything around him, and waiting.

He doesn’t manage to move again for a long while. His legs won’t respond until he’s thoroughly, _thoroughly_ sure that his brother is gone. And then it’s just him and his shitty thoughts, all the way home.

 

 

 

He doesn’t go looking for Donnie when he gets back. April is gone, he knows that much from the absence of talking in the station, but he’s not going to go to his brother. Not yet.

He’s got enough voices telling him off for his dumbass mistake already, all up in his head where he can’t escape them.

A lot of them sound like his brothers.

Mikey slams his bedroom door, because he _can_ and he _feels like it_ and Donnie isn’t the type to go looking for reasons behind slamming doors. It’s just a sign of which part of the house you should be avoiding right then.

And that curdles Mikey’s stomach. The thought that even though they’re working so hard to change, he’s still using the same tactics they did at home. Still acting like their siblings.

Well, too late to un-slam it now. He’s already gone and done it. Just like he went and nearly got caught. Just two more mistakes he can’t take back.

His t-phone has been pinging with texts nonstop, one or two calls going straight to voicemail. Mikey doesn’t bother looking at the messages, and turns the thing off completely. It goes under the mattress right after.

He sits in his room, by his bed and with only one lamp on, and isn’t sure what to do next.

He has to tell Donnie. And even if he doesn’t, Donnie’s probably already gotten a rush of texts from one or both of their brothers about it. Donnie probably already knows, and is probably already angry at Mikey.

Well fuck him; Mikey’s already angry at himself. He doesn’t need anyone else yelling at him, because he’s got plenty in his head as is.

The anger bubbling in the back of his throat makes his head hurt, and Mikey shuts his eyes. He puts his head between his hands, and pushes _hard_ against the sides of his skull. The dull buzz in it keeps up, and he just ends up feeling like he’s got a headache.

He drops his hands, and stares at the wall across from him. Shame and frustration join the anger, and he starts to feel twitchy.

He’s such a fucking idiot. He knew it before this, and he knows it even better now. The whole experience is just a repeat of every other fuck up Mikey’s ever made, and hey, it’s even worse this time because he’d been actively trying to _not_ fuck up the last while.

Before he didn’t care. Because that was normal and he couldn’t escape it no matter what he tried. He cares a lot more now, because he _likes_ not being yelled at all the time; likes not getting smacked over the head or insulted every time he so much as _breathes._

He likes spending time with a brother that’s not constantly angry, or disappointed, or _annoyed_ at him. One that doesn’t treat him like he’s useless or a hang on or just the moronic youngest brother that no one wants around.

But it looks like that’s about to change.

And maybe he deserves that, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t _hate it._

Mikey’s hand brushes something hard and cold underneath his bed, and he looks down. The bottle of tequila, which he’d previously wrapped up in a wad of towel he’d left in his room, is peeking out from under its hiding space.

Mikey looks at it, and considers what he should do.

On impulse- _because that’s all he ever does, acts on stupid stupid stupid impulses-_ he pulls it out and uncaps it.

If Donnie can drink, then so can he. And if his brother doesn’t like it, then _whatever._ Mikey’s already going to be in shit, so might as well add one more thing for Donnie to yell at him about.

The first sip makes him choke, because it tastes like the stuff he uses to clean the kitchen.

It burns all the way down, and Mikey coughs for a solid few seconds as his eyes water.

He takes another sip anyways.

Mikey drinks most of what was left in the bottle- _which was a fair amount, considering how much Donnie and Casey had seemed to have drunk-_ and then sits in his room feeling even shittier than before.

It’s not fair. Why is that _he’s_ the fuck up? He’s not the one who was always shouting at people or ordering them around. He’s not the one who put all his attention into two sons and not the others. He’s not the one who gave unsubtle looks of disappointment or slipped barbs into his words every time he spoke about one specific person. He’s not the one who hits people.

Mikey’s not the one at fault for all that stuff. _He’s_ not the one who did all that. And what did he do to deserve all that shit anyways? When had he fucked up so horribly that no one could even talk to him anymore without _insulting him?_

Why did his brothers hate him so much? Mikey didn’t _do anything wrong,_ he just is how he is and he _can’t change that._ Couldn’t then and can’t now and _won’t,_ because what’s wrong with wanting to think about nicer stuff? What’s wrong with wanting to lighten the situation when everything is a great big pile _shit_ constantly, and none of them have had a night without fighting in _years?_

What the hell is so wrong with Mikey that everything he says has to get shut down or ignored? At what point did everything he said just become _nonsense_ to everyone else? At what point did he get designated as everyone’s verbal and physical _punching bag?_

_Fuck them. Fuck them all._

Mikey’s head _aches_ with all the fury he’s channeling, and he’s not sure when he left his room.

It figures that Donnie comes out of his lab, for _once_ , just in time to meet Mikey in the hallway.

Donnie has his phone in his hands, and he looks up at Mikey with wide eyes. Mikey knows what Donnie’s going to say before he does, and Mikey glowers at his brother.

“You- you almost got caught?” Donnie asks, and they both know there’s no need to give context to that statement. Donnie’s lips go thin, and he closes a hand around his phone. “Mikey, that was way too close. Are you-”

 _“Shut up,”_ Mikey bites out, cutting his brother off from almost definitely saying ‘ _are you stupid?’_ “I _know_ already, don’t bother telling me off for it.” His head feels wrong and soupy with anger and alcohol, and he just doesn’t have any filter left. “Just- just leave me alone! I _know_ I fucked up!”

Donnie looks at him, rising out of a half hunch. He spots the bottle Mikey had forgotten he was still clutching. “You’re drinking the tequila” Donnie says, lips tugging downwards, and _there’s_ the disappointment Mikey was expecting. “Mikey, you shouldn’t be doing that. It’s-”

“It’s _what?”_ Mikey barks, because he doesn’t care, he’s already going to be in trouble and he doesn’t _care_ if he gets in more for talking back. “It’s _stupid?_ Thanks, I kind of _already knew that,_ so piss off!”

Donnie is looking at him with apprehension now, and slowly crossing his arms. “No, I was I going to say that it’s a _depressant_ , and it’s not a good thing to be drinking when you’re not emotionally balanced. Mikey, that wasn’t a good idea.”

Mikey’s laughter comes out of his throat in a way that hurts, and he _does not care._ “You _always_ say that about- about _whatever_ I decide to do,” Mikey says, biting and furious and so far beyond giving a shit. “All of you do! You all just _shit on me_ for everything I sug- suggest doing, and then you call me stupid for even _thinking_ the ideas! So _fuck you,_ fuck you and your long- _long stupid words_ , I don’t give a _shit_ anymore!”

Donnie’s eyes are wide, and his mouth has dropped open. “Mikey, is that what you think I’m-”

“I don’t _care_ what you’re on about, I don’t _care!”_ Mikey cuts him off, swinging his arm through the air in a harsh gesture. “None of you ever cared what _I_ was on about, so why should I give a shit about _you?”_

Donnie’s arms come uncrossed, and Mikey takes a quick step backwards to get out of range. Bad idea, because everything tilts as he does, and he stumbles. Mikey feels that Donnie is still looking at him, and he _knows_ if he looks back he’ll see disappointment, maybe annoyance, maybe any of the other countless looks his brothers always give him when he’s acting particularly stupid.

“Mikey, we should sit down,” Donnie says, slow and careful like he’s trying to explain things to Mikey in a way he’ll get it. Like he’s an _idiot._ “If you need to… talk about this, we should.”

“You never listen, _none of you do,”_ Mikey mutters, and he, acting on impulse for the umpteenth time tonight, tries to bring the tequila to his lips.

Donnie’s hand stops his rising arm.

Mikey _snarls,_ and yanks his hand away. Or, tries to, but Donnie’s hand has formed a vicelike grip on his arm and _won’t let go._

“Mikey- Mikey stop and _think_ for a second, this isn’t helping, you’re just making it _worse-”_

_Always worse, he’s always just making it worse and screwing things up because he’s an IDIOT, because he can’t get anything RIGHT-_

_-never thinks never plans never does anything except make stupid stupid stupid mistakes-_

_-no wonder none of them wanted him around, they all think he’s useless and a nuisance and just plain_ stupid-

“Shut _up!”_ Mikey shouts, yanking against Donnie’s grip again. He _hates_ being held in place, he _hates_ being held against his will, he _hates it when people grab him like this because it’s always followed by a-_ “Let me _go!_ You don’t- you don’t even _care-_ ”

“Mikey, just let me _talk to you,_ we’ll- we just need to sit down, you’re not making any _sense-”_

“You _always say that!”_ Mikey screams, _still unable to free his arm, still stuck in place and unable to escape-_ “All of you! You- you all think I’m an _idiot!_ I’m not; I’m not an idiot so stop _talking to me like I am-”_

Donnie’s hands grip tighter around Mikey’s arm, and just get _tighter_ even as Mikey tugs and tugs and _tugs_ to get away, and-

“Mikey- just _listen for two seconds-”_

-Mikey’s _other arm_ is still free-

“-I’m just trying to _help you-_ ”

-and Donnie _still won’t let go, and he’s still yelling everyone’s yelling and Mikey **can’t get away.**_

He gives one last _yank_ on his arm-

_-it doesn’t come free-_

-and he raises his _other_ arm, and-

 _-Donnie’s voice and hands and_ everything _too much too_ much-

 _-_ Mikey’s fist makes contact with Donnie’s cheek.

The tequila falls out of both their hands, and hits the floor with a dull thud. Its open top spills what was left of it onto the throw carpet they’d laid out in the hallway.

Its making the spot by Donnie’s feet wet. The spot where Donnie’s feet are, which lead up to his legs, which lead up to his shell-

-which is on the floor, because Mikey hit Donnie hard enough he fell over.

Everything slows down, as Donnie stares up at Mikey. Eyes wide with shock, and confusion, and _hurt._

Mikey can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. His hand hurts and he _can’t breathe._

Donnie slowly raises a shaking hand to his cheek, and blinks at the pain of touching it.

And Mikey-

Mikey _howls._

_He fucked up._

_He fucked up he fucked up he fucked up he fucked up he fucked up hefuckeduphefuckeduphefuckedup **he is the fuck up-**_

Donnie’s eyes go even wider, and he struggles to stand up fast enough. “Mikey, Mikey _no-”_

Mikey stumbles back- _out of range out of reach-_ and his scream cuts off as he does- _shut up shut up no one wants to hear-_ and he _runs._

His door slams behind him, and he locks it with numb fingers. Shaking fingers. Fingers that can make a fist that he _used to hit his brother._

It’s not the same as training. It’s not the same because he’d done it outside the dojo, outside a spar, outside of a battle, during a real fight between them and with intent to _hurt._

Donnie’s own fists hit the door the second he’s locked it, and Mikey hears the knob shake as his brother tries to get inside. Donnie is yelling and Mikey can’t hear any of it, his heart and mind already _too loud_ as he backs away from the shuddering frame.

 _“Mikey- Mikey_ please, _open the door. Open the door- I know you didn’t mean it, so_ please-”

Mikey shakes his head at the door, and keeps backing away until his shell hits the wall. He slowly, agonizingly slowly, sinks to the floor, and sits. And stares.

His hands are shaking still. He can still feel the impact of punching Donnie.

Mikey inhales sharply, and feels like something is cracking.

Nothing changed. He left with Donnie and tried to do better and _nothing changed._ He’s still a fuck up, they’re both still broken, and he _hit his brother._

He got angry, and let his anger out, and someone got hurt.

Someone always gets hurt when anger is let out. Usually it’s Mikey who gets hurt. Usually it’s Raph who lets it out.

Mikey let go of his control, and Donnie got hurt.

He’s just like his brother. He’s just like Raph, except _worse, because Mikey was actually trying._

And Mikey feels sick.

_“Mikey! MIKEY! Open the door! God damn it- OPEN THE DOOR-”_

Mikey puts his hands over his mouth, and feels burning tears spill out of his eyes.

Donnie’s wide and hurt eyes play through his mind again, and a choked sob finds its way up his throat.

_“Please, oh god, please open the door Mikey. Please, please open the door-”_

Mikey can’t move and _won’t let himself move._

He’s not opening that door. He’s not opening it or exposing Donnie to- to _Mikey_ again.

Donnie’s stopped banging on the door, and there’s nothing making sound anymore except for Mikey’s hyperventilation.

He still can’t breathe. He’s sucking in air and he still can’t breathe.

There’s nothing except that for a long, long moment, and then Donnie’s cracking voice comes through the door again.

 _“Mikey,_ please. _Open the door. I’m- I’m scared of what you’re thinking right now. Please… I know you di-didn’t mean it-”_

Donnie’s voice breaks and Mikey feels something in him do the same.

 _“…oh god, I don’t know what I’m doing. Fuck- Mikey, I_ know _you didn’t mean to. I’m so- I’m so sorry I held onto you like that, I-I-I was panicking, and you were upset and I… I didn’t know what else to_ do _, Mikey…”_

Mikey stifles a sob, and feels like he’s swimming in guilt. _Drowning_ in it.

 _“You’re not an idiot, I nev- I wouldn’t- I’m_ sorry _, Mikey. Oh god I’m so sorry. Please, please open the door. Please…”_

Donnie is crying. He’s crying and it’s a sound Mikey never, _ever_ wanted to hear again.

 _“...I’m sorry… Mikey, I’m so sorry… please open the door… I’m_ sorry…”

Mikey can’t take hearing that, can’t take hearing the hopeless desperation Donnie has in his voice. He just _can’t._

He’s already done too much damage as it is.

Somehow, _somehow,_ Mikey drags himself towards the door on numb legs, and fumbles with the lock.

He gets it open, and Donnie is there. Standing and staring, and blinking thick tears out of his eyes.

Mikey’s own tears respond in sympathy, and fall down to dampen his mask even more. “I’m sorry,” He says, hoarse and shaking and so, so sorry. His breathing hitches and he feels himself crumpling. _“ ‘m sorry.”_

Donnie takes a sharp inhale, and the sound conveys so many things all at once, emotions and thoughts and actions-

-and then he grabs Mikey in a hug.

Mikey’s arms, without his permission, grab Donnie back and don’t let go.

They take a few stumbling steps backwards, and somehow make it to the floor against the hallway wall. It’s just the two of them tangled together, stubbornly stupidly refusing to let go of each other. There’s no one else here to see anything, or make judgements, or be angry at anyone.

It’s just them, and Mikey’s big brother is still holding onto him like a lifeline that’ll disappear the moment he lets it.

And Mikey sobs.

 He mashes his face into Donnie’s neck and shoulder and _sobs_. Because he’s so sorry, he’s so so so _sorry._ He didn’t mean to, he didn’t want to, he’d _never do that-_ except he did and he’s _sorry-_

“Shh, shh shh shh, it’s okay, Mikey its _okay,_ I’m fine it’s fine-”

-he’s not him, he’s _not him-_

“You’re not, Mikey you’re not Raph, you’re just-”

-no he worse he’s a _fuck up_ that none of them ever wanted, ever liked, ever _loved-_

“-you’re _not,_ you’re not a fuck up. I- I love you and you’re not a- _shh shh shh,_ you’re _not_ , I swear you’re not. Mikey, Mikey look at me, _look at me.”_

Donnie’s hands turn Mikey’s face upwards, and for a moment Mikey’s instincts _scream_ at the sudden touch, but it’s just Donnie. It’s _Donnie._ And his brother is looking at him with nothing but concern and grief and _love._

“Mikey, you’re not- you’re not stupid, or a fuck up, or-” Donnie breaks off, blinking gloss out of his eyes. “-or _unwanted._ You’re my brother and I love you, I’ve _always loved you._ Every- every damn second of our lives, I’ve _loved you_ and I _never_ felt otherwise.”

Mikey stares at his brother, trying to process the words Donnie is saying. “Then why-” Mikey’s voice breaks and his eyes blur even worse. “-then why did you always- always call me an idiot, or- or _stupid_ , or tell you didn’t want me- me anywhere n-near you-” He can’t see anything at all and everything _hurts._ “-why did all of you say that you _didn’t want me-”_

Mikey’s voice gives out, and he starts sobbing again. Thick and horrible tears rolling down into his mask that he shoves out of the way to mash at his eyes and wipe away his stupid, stupid weakness-

-and Donnie’s arms just pull him closer.

Mikey just sobs harder, words and thoughts tumbling out as he cries. And Donnie just keeps holding him.

His brother is making shushing sounds, running a hand up and down Mikey’s shell while he does. Mikey thinks his brother is saying things like _“I always wanted you”_ and _“I’m sorry”_ and _“Mikey, I love you, I_ love you _-”_ but Mikey’s head and heart are too loud to let anything real come through.

Mikey just keeps crying and crying and crying. Until he’s done.

Then they sit there, cramped in a desperate two way clutch. Mikey’s vision finally clears itself, and his head and eyes and pretty much everything else hurt.

He can see the spilled tequila, all the way at the end of the hall. And then he feels sick again.

Distantly, he feels Donnie’s arms tighten around him again as his breath hitches in a half sob.

Even more distantly, Mikey thinks about how none of his family has done this is years. He loves Leatherhead, downright adores his friend, but it’s not the same as getting a cuddle from his brothers. From his father.

Mikey doesn’t remember the last time his dad even hugged him.

That brings another fresh wave of grief and anger and _sorrow_ up from his core, and Mikey shudders as he tries to shove it all back down. “Why didn’t- why didn’t dad- why didn’t he _love me?_ ” Mikey chokes out. “Why didn’t _any of you_ love me? Al-always calling me stupid, or- or telling me to leave, or saying you didn’t want me around- and he never- he didn’t even _expect me_ to do well at _anything,_ he just- just waited all the time for me to _fail-_ ”

“I don’t know, _I don’t know,”_ Donnie says, low and fast, clutching Mikey closer. “But I’m sorry. Mikey, I’m so, so sorry. You’re great. You’re amazing. You’re smart and good and I love you, okay? Don’t think otherwise. Please, please don’t think otherwise. I can’t- I don’t- I don’t know what to _do_ , Mikey. I’m- I’m just sorry and I don’t know what to _do_ anymore.”

Donnie presses a kiss to Mikey’s forehead, a gesture he barely feels, and his brother says _“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Mikey-”_ in a hushed voice, like it’s a prayer. Donnie says it again and again, and Mikey just turns his head into his brother’s shoulder and lets himself be held.

They don’t leave the hallway for a long time.

 

 

 

“…I had a handle on it,” Mikey says, hours later and with a voice that hurts. Shame is still running a throbbing tempo behind his eyes, in pulse with his headache. “I. I don’t like being angry. I don’t even like _having_ anger; let alone… talking about it.”

Donnie’s quiet presence, on the other end of the couch, leaves the air open for Mikey to continue. And he does. “It’s… it’s nasty, and it makes me feel gross, and…” Mikey blinks away memories that rise up. Memories from before they’d left. “People get hurt when you- when you let it out. ‘s why I never do. And besides… Raph’s the angry one. I’m the… stupid one.”

“You’re not, though,” Donnie says, and that’s one of the few things he’s said while Mikey gets things out. “You’re just as smart as the rest of us, and Raph’s just an asshole.”

Mikey scoffs. “Not as smart as you.”

“That’s-” Donnie sighs, and shifts his position on the couch. “That’s different. We went over that already.”

Mikey ducks his head, and can’t look at his brother. Another thought rises up in him, and he speaks it. “How come you didn’t talk to me about…” Mikey waffles between how he should address their deceased parent. Splinter? Sensei? Whatever. “…our father. How come you talked to Casey and April, but not… me.”

Donnie is quiet for too long, and Mikey’s stomach twists. He knew it, he _knew it-_ “It’s because you don’t think I’m smart enough to _get it,_ right?”

“Wha- no!” Donnie exclaims, starting out of his silence. Mikey still won’t look at him, even as his brother moves closer. “Mikey, I didn’t want to talk to _anyone_ about that. I- I just- Casey _made me_ , okay? And April is… April. She asked, and he forced me to, and it’s just…” Donnie seems to search for the right words, for once, and it takes another beat before he does. “It’s just _different_ with them, alright? And it’s nothing to do with you. It was just… easier, somehow. And… truthfully, I never wanted any of you to know what I thought about our father. Especially you, Mikey.”

“…why especially me?” Mikey asks warily. He’s not sure if he wants to hear the answer, or any of the following insults.

“Mikey, could you look at me?”

Mikey lifts his head slowly, and cautiously meets his brother’s eyes. Donnie looks tired, red eyed in a different way than normal. But he’s also giving a weakly encouraging smile.

“I didn’t want you to know especially… because you were the only brother I had left,” Donnie says, and his smile nearly slips for a moment, in turn with the flash of regret and grief in his eyes. “I didn’t want to- to tell you what I’d caused, if you hadn’t figured it out already, because I didn’t want to lose you _too._ I- I thought if I told you, you’d… stop wanting to be here with me.”

Mikey blinks, and finds himself shaking his head in jerky shakes. “No- no I’d- I wouldn’t _leave you_ , Dee,” Mikey says, because he wouldn’t, not now not ever- “I wouldn’t _do that.”_

They’ve already lost so many people; he couldn’t turn his back on Donnie now.

“I know,” Donnie says, wincing in on himself. “But tell that to my anxiety.”

A part of Mikey knows he’s supposed to laugh a bit at that, maybe crack a joke of his own… but he’s all out of that stuff right now. He’s too tired.

He can do something else, though.

“I don’t blame you,” Mikey says, abruptly enough that Donnie seems confused for a second. He pushes on anyways. “I don’t blame you for Splinter dying, or what happened to our family. So don’t think I do, or ever would.”

Donnie just stares at him for a long breath, and then his shoulders slowly slump. In relief, not despair. It’s so much better than the slump he has when he’s given up.

“Okay,” Donnie says, and Mikey can hear the resounding relief in his brother’s voice. Donnie nods his head, and blinks away wetness in his eyes. “Okay. Thank- thank you, Mikey.”

The last part comes out as a whisper, and Mikey nods slowly. He thinks Donnie is also exhausted from all the emotional feelings talk, and Mikey is right there with him. No more of that tonight.

“Can we just make dinner and go to bed now?” Mikey asks, wondering vaguely if he’ll be told off for changing the subject to food. “I think I’m all talked out.”

“You? Talked out? I never thought I’d see the day,” Donnie says with a soft laugh, only for it cut off when he sees how Mikey is shrinking on himself.

“Yeah, ha, I never do shut up, do I?” Mikey mumbles. Always talking, always rambling, always going on and on about things no one even listens to him say…

“That’s not what I meant,” Donnie says, and his hand reaches out to grab at Mikey’s- only for it to stop just before touching. Hovering there. Donnie looks at Mikey, and Mikey hears the silent question.

Mikey opens his hand, and lifts it to meet Donnie’s. Their hands clasp together tightly, and Donnie says, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to be mean. I won’t say it again.”

“…thanks,” Mikey says, swallowing down his tremulous thoughts and emotions.

Donnie’s hand tightens around his, and slowly pulls Mikey close enough for a hug. Mikey lets himself be pulled over, and wraps his arms around Donnie as his brother does the same to Mikey.

“I think that food idea is a good one,” Donnie says after a beat. “I’m pretty hungry, actually. I don’t think I ate tonight at all.”

Mikey scoffs quietly, and thumps his head against Donnie’s shoulder. “You suck at taking care of yourself, Dee. Gonna waste away one of these days.” Mikey knows that one is toeing the line, because they don’t need to actually say it to both know that if they’d stayed in the lair… there would’ve been a real chance of that happening.

Mikey hugs his brother a little tighter, and tries to push away that image.

“Mgh, don’t I know it,” Donnie mutters. He turns his head, and Mikey feels a soft kiss to his forehead. “Think instant noodles and easy vegetables would be good? I don’t have enough energy for real cooking.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mikey agrees, and he starts to pull away from their hug. Donnie stops him though, with a gentle grip on Mikey’s shoulders. Mikey glances up, and meets his brother’s eyes again.

“For the record, and from now on,” Donnie says, strong voiced and with certainty. “I don’t think you’re stupid, and I’m never calling you that again. Ever. As far as I’m concerned, the word is gone from my vocabulary now and forever.”

That startles a laugh out of Mikey. “Now _that_ is just stupid,” Mikey says, disbelief and some kind of achy emotion running through him. “You can’t just delete that word; you use it on, like, half the problems we deal with.”

“I can and will and _have,”_ Donnie says stubbornly. Then, tone shifting to something softer, “Mikey, I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Particularly with how I treated you. I need to make up for it, and if giving up one word that’s done more damage than I ever thought it would is something that’ll help, then I’ll give it up and never say it again for the rest of my life.” He smiles, and there’s a hint of humor to the expression. “Besides, when have you ever known me to go halfway with anything? It’s all or nothing here, and I’m going to give my all.”

Oh.

Mikey can’t find a response to that. He can’t do anything other than nod shakily as something warm and painful and loving fills up his chest, and nearly makes him start crying again.

Scratch that, he already is.

“Oh, Mikey,” Donnie says gently, and wraps Mikey in another hug. “Shhhh, it’s okay. Just let it out, it’s okay.”

Mikey sniffles pathetically, and hides in his brother’s shoulder for a while longer. He stifles the last of his tears, and somehow pulls everything back together enough to push past the old pains and breaks in himself, to look at the new things taking their place. The warm things brought to life by having his brother say that he’s sorry, and that he’ll do anything to fix what’s happened to Mikey, and how Mikey now feels like he really matters. To Donnie. Like he’s not just the brother their family never wanted, or the screw up youngest no one ever listened to. He feels like he’s loved.

It’s not a feeling he ever wants to lose again, and he tries to say that, only for it to come out incoherent and rambly. Donnie just shushes him and says he knows, he knows and they won’t. Never again.

No more hurting and being hurt.

No more.

 

 

 

The tequila bottle is smashed with vigor and vengeance. Mikey whoops as he hears the glass shatter against the wall of the tunnel. It’s a good sound.

“I am never letting Jones anywhere near us with that toxic liquid _ever_ _again,”_ Donnie says in a matter of fact tone, accompanied with a disgusted sniff. “It brings nothing but misery and tears to anyone who drinks it.”

“True that,” Mikey says, hands on his hips and feeling much better just for that small act of destruction. Sometimes, he supposes, anger is allowed out if you do it _right._

As he has come to discover- and is no longer allowed to _ignore_ \- bottling it all up and not speaking about it all just makes things ten times worse than they need to be.

He and Donnie had a talk about that. A very long talk. A talk that took all night and well into the day, mixed in with all the nasty things Mikey has been keeping locked up inside and pretending didn’t exist.

It’d felt like pouring murky water out into the open, filled with all the rotting thoughts Mikey had inside him. All the emotions and memories he’s been ignoring for so long.

Donnie hadn’t had answers for some of them. The ones about their dad and why he never seemed to expect anything of Mikey at all, and the ones about Raph and Leo and why they always treated Mikey like a useless piece of junk no one wanted.

He’d had some though. Mostly for himself, and those answers were mostly apologies.

Mikey countered a lot of the apologies with his own, or insistences that that specific moment or interaction he _had_ been an idiot, or annoying, or was just being a general fuck up-

But Donnie had very, very sternly told him to shut up when he tried that, and to stop saying those things.

 _“And that includes thinking those things, Mikey,”_ Donnie had said, still stern. _“If I’m not allowed to think shitty things about myself, then neither are you.”_

Mikey had tried to counter that, but hadn’t been able to.

Well, no harm in that. If they’re instating a _‘no shitty thoughts about yourself’_ rule, then it’s a good one. Mikey even wrote it onto the fridge whiteboard, displayed with their other new rules.

Most of them are about minding each other’s spaces and needs, and some are about which subjects have to be talked about specifically. They’re _both_ guilty of bottling things up, and _whoops_ , looks like they’ll have to police one another about doing so.

Mikey doesn’t mind that rule too much, and Donnie doesn’t either.

It’s a good rule. It’s a rule that makes sure they communicate when they’re feeling particularly bad, and makes sure they go to one another for support for those moments.

Donnie hasn’t made fun of Mikey’s issues once the whole while. Even when Mikey started talking about the dumb nightmares he gets, Donnie had listened intently, and given nothing but reassurances afterwards. No mockery in sight.

Mikey still catches himself waiting for a verbal or physical blow sometimes, but that’s getting to be less and less. He kinda hopes it’ll be not at all sometime soon.

Everything else is great though! They’re both talking and spending time together, they’ve got awesome friends who are doing everything they can to support the two of them, and they’ve got a home all to themselves; one that’s full of plants that make everything smell great and furniture they picked out themselves and new memories they’re building together.

Now that Mikey has most of his anger out, ( _most_ , because he doesn’t think he’ll ever get it _all_ out), and his skull isn’t buzzing with repressed emotions all the time, he thinks it’s the happiest he’s felt in a long, long time.

All good things! He’d like it if things would stay that way, at least for a while.

He’s tired of fighting. Tired of dealing with one crisis after another. They had a talk about that too, about being tired of things like that. And about why Mikey suddenly couldn’t control himself so well anymore. Why all the anger came crawling out, even though he’d put so much work into pushing it all down.

Funny thing about trauma, if you stand still long enough for it to catch up, it will. And then the whole game changes.

No more war means no more distractions, and that means they can’t ignore the things that happened over the years any longer. Kind of hard to do that when there’s nothing left to deal with, other than the pieces leftover.

Emotionally speaking, they’re both kind of really fucked up. Mentally speaking too. It’s going to be a long time before that’s not a thing anymore.

But whatever, they’ll get through it. They always do, so why would this be any different? Especially since they’re both going to do their absolute best to be the support they need.

It’s just them now. No dad, no big brothers. They’ve got friends but it’s just not the same.

They’ll figure this out, through talking and googling things and making a lot of tea and popcorn for movie marathons. All good ways of figuring out why something hurts so much, and then moving away from the hurt.

They’ve got this. They’re the B-team- and that’s _their name_ now, not their brothers’ for them, they’re taking it back and making it their own- and they’ve _totally got this._

They’ve got each other, and they’re not letting go of that.

Mikey skips back into the station, because he can and no one will make fun of him for doing so, and heads towards the kitchen to grab a couple sodas. Donnie’s setting up the TV for another movie night, because they don’t have training and don’t _want_ to do training anymore. They can decide what they want to do and no one else gets a say in it.

It’s a pretty awesome feeling, that one. Sure they got all sorts of unresolved issues still hanging in the background, but freedom still tastes like freedom and Mikey _loves_ it.

Mikey opens the fridge, grabbing the six-pack of mini-Sprites they nabbed from the grocers the other day. And of course, he pops open the freezer to get kitty from her home. No way could he forget the third member of their household on a _movie night_.

Ice cream kitty _mrowrowrow’s_ at him as he takes her out, and it’s a bit of a challenge to balance her while she squirms in her newest bowl. He keeps her steady though, and heads back out through the drapes with the first round of snacks for him and Donnie.

“You ready? I’m so hyped to see this movie,” Mikey says as he sets kitty on the coffee table. Said coffee table has taken a couple beatings lately, and he pats a couple scuff marks on its surface. Good coffee table, great job keeping up with their emotional drama. He should get it a doily as reward.

Donnie isn’t answering him, intently focusing on his phone as he stands motionless by the TV. Mikey’s own phone has remained under his mattress since he put it there, so Donnie’s been the only one seeing the messages from their brothers.

“Donnie?” Mikey asks, standing up straighter. “Hey, something wrong?”

Donnie finally hears him, and looks up from his t-phone.

Mikey’s good cheer disappears when he sees the expression on Donnie’s face.

“Mikey,” Donnie says, breathless and quiet. “We have to go back. It’s Raph.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on similar experiences i've had.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To tell a child who they're meant to be, that they have a single destiny, a single future, is to set them up for failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, so.
> 
> this was literally one of the most arduous chapter i've ever tried to write, i spent two whole weeks trying to, so if y'all would leave some good comments on this forty+ page update, it'd really be appreciated.
> 
> also, as of now, i have created and released a narrative soundtrack to the first four chapters of this fanfic on 8tracks. [listen here if you want to get an audio experience to go with this series.](https://8tracks.com/spectrumwriting/disc-1-we-needed-to-change)
> 
> whenever i get done with the A-team's side of things in here, i'll release the soundtrack for that. look forwards to it.

“From now on,” Leo says, continuing despite the shocked noises Raph and Mikey are making. “I’ll be our Sensei, and I’ll expect your respect for that position. It was our father’s dying wish, and I’ll see that I carry it out.”

He sits straight, head held high, and squares his shoulders for the new responsibility he’s just accepted. It’s been long enough spent mourning; he needs to stand back up and continue to be the leader he is to his family. Their father is gone and Leo spending his nights and days missing him won’t help anyone.

He needs to be strong. He needs to be unfaltering. He needs to be the Sensei his father knew he would one day be.

This is destiny. He needs to meet it head on, for the sake of his remaining family.

Raph might take some talking into it- he always does with these things- but at least Leo knows Donnie and Mikey will accept the change in things. While Raph remains someone Leo has to watch for the occasional insubordination, their younger brothers are reliable to always follow orders in the field. It eases some of the worries in Leo’s mind, of something going catastrophically wrong again and this time he’d lose _everyone_ and not just one person-

Donnie nods vaguely, and seems off in his head again. He’s obviously agreeable to how things are going to change, which won’t be much if they’re truthful. Donnie always can see the bigger picture to things, and Leo appreciates that he understands how it’ll play out from now on.

Mikey meanwhile is still giving him a confused and somewhat doubtful expression. “Are you _sure_ that’s what Splinter said?” he asks, stressing his words.

“Yes,” Leo replies confidently, zero hesitation in him. It’s the truth. It’s the truth and it’s the last truth his father ever told him. “He told me,” His throat clenches for a brief moment. “a few hours before we went to rescue Karai and Shinigami.”

Mikey opens his mouth for a moment, and then closes it. Staring at Leo. Donnie remains quiet, eyes focused on something past Leo.

Meanwhile, Raph’s expression slowly shifts, from confused to awe in a strange way, and then he says a quiet, “Huh,” and scratches the back of his head. “You know, I kind of knew it’d happen someday, but… wow.”

Leo smiles warmly. “I know. It was a lot to take in, but I’m proud to do this. It’ll be a bit of an adjustment, even for me, but… this _is_ what he wanted.”

This is what their father wanted. For him, for them, for all of their futures.

It’s a heavy burden, but he’s more than willing to bear it. After all, it’s what he was always destined to do.

He’ll always miss his Sensei, miss being a student and having someone to look to for advice. But, everyone has to grow up sometime, and this is his time to do so. Leo’s been heading for this point his entire life, and all that’s left is to accept it.

He does. He accepts it, and he’s ready. Ready for the responsibility of being a true leader, a Sensei. A mentor to his whole family.

He can do this. He’ll do exactly what his father wanted him to, and he’ll do it without hesitation. This is what the rest of their lives are going to look like; him, at the head of their family, and his brothers, following his lead as they embark on whatever comes after their war.

Leo keeps smiling as Raph starts teasing him about testing his skills one more time before really accepting Leo’s mentorship, and Donnie and Mikey remain quiet as they digest what Leo’s told them. They’ll accept it fully soon enough, no rush. After all, they’ve got their whole lives ahead of them to do so.

But then Leo wakes up one evening, weeks after that first one, and finds Donnie and Mikey’s beds empty.

 

 

 

It takes a while to notice it. After he gets up, Leo goes straight into the dojo. A short prayer to his father’s altar, and then he gears up for an early evening solo training session. Just to warm up, to erase any lingering fatigue from a restless day’s sleep.

He likes training. It’s simple, straight forwards. More familiar than his own name is. Even when nights or days happen where it feels like his world’s been flipped upside down, or he’s struggling to find even ground to stand on, there’s always training. There’s always the sound of his swords slicing through the air, constant and comforting until he sheathes them.

He loves training. Loves it. There’s nothing else so simple, so easy to control. Every move planned, every step placed as it’s needed, every intake of breath steady and patterned.

It’s just him, the dojo, and his swords when he’s training alone. It’s possibly his favorite state to be in, out of all the states he’s been in. It’s definitely better than his worst ones.

He stops somewhere around eight. Exactly one hour of training complete and done with. Leo’s legs and arms burn pleasantly, and he feels collected in his wits. Ready for another evening with his brothers, their friends and whatever the night will bring.

He goes into the kitchen after a rub down, and finds that there’s still no one else awake. Not unusual, since Mikey tends to sleep through most of the evening these days, and Raph refuses to rise before eight thirty. God knows when Donnie will; either he’s already awake and has been awake all day, and will crash soon enough from a sciencing spree. Or, he’ll stumble out of whichever room he passed out in, grab coffee, and disappear back into wherever his head is this evening. Leo rarely knows, and doesn’t ask unless it’s vital to a mission for Donnie to be in good form. Their father always seemed to trust Donnie to know what he was doing anyways; Leo sees no reason to change that method of handling Donnie’s eccentricities, now that he’s the one in charge.

Raph joins him in the kitchen five minutes past the half hour, and blearily steals a piece of Leo’s cold dinner leftovers.

“You know when Mike’s getting up?” he asks after a yawn. Raph bites into the quarter of grilled cheese he stole, chews, and swallows. “I want real breakfast food for once.”

Leo shrugs, and sets down his most recent sci-fi novel pick. He only got it a week ago, and he’s taking his time to savor. “Maybe you should go wake him up. He shouldn’t sleep in so long anyways, it’s not healthy.”

“Mgh, yeah, guess I should. He’s such a little shit when he first gets up, though.”

“Like you’re not,” Leo comments blandly.

Raph shoots him a glare, which Leo ignores, and then stalks back out of the kitchen. Apparently, Leo’s brother’s need for warm food overrules his annoyance with having to deal with a sleep-stupid Mikey. Leo will have to snitch off that platter of whatever Mikey whips up, before Raph and their brother eat everything.

Donnie should really show himself soon, otherwise he won’t get a share of it at all.

Leo finishes the last bits of his grilled cheese, just as Raph comes back into the kitchen.

“Did he say somethin’ about going out at all tonight?” Raph asks. “Because he’s not in his bed.”

“…not that I remember?” Leo says, thinking back to the previous night. All he gets is Mikey’s usual string of nonsense; all of it melding together into a cloud of meaningless noise.

“Text him. I’m gonna poke in the lab and see if he’s bothering Donnie again.”

Leo nods, and stands up from the kitchen island. Raph and he separate, going opposite directions in their home. Leo hears the lab doors pulled open as he ascends the stairs into the bedroom hallway, and he heads towards his room to get his t-phone off the desk where it’s been charging.

On a whim, he stops to open the door into Donnie’s room; just to see if Donnie’s asleep and Mikey’s been messing in the lab unsupervised.

Leo opens the door completely when he sees no one is in bed, and scratches his throat idly. Odd, since he hasn’t heard any explosions or yelling from the lab this evening so far, and neither of those is ever absent when Mikey starts interfering with Donnie’s things, _while_ Donnie is still present.

Leo turns to walk away, and then pauses in the open doorway.

Wait.

…has Donnie’s room always been so empty looking?

Leo hears footsteps approaching, and he steps backwards into the hallway again. Raph comes towards him with a terse grimace, and before Leo can ask him about the contents of Donnie’s room and if he’s imagining things, Raph says-

“They’re not in the lab, and the door out to the garage tunnel was open. The Shellraiser’s gone.”

Leo’s brow furrows. That’s… weird. “Are you sure they’re not in there? You know how lost Donnie gets in all those machines of his-”

“Yeah, but there’s something about that too,” Raph interrupts. His grimace gets deeper. “You ever notice that his lab isn’t as crowded as it used to be?”

“…what?”

“Like. Most of his shit is gone. Gone, gone. Not wrecked or pushed to the side, but… missing.”

Leo stares at Raph, trying to make sense of that sentence. Maybe Donnie’s just spring cleaning and Mikey is helping him, as unlikely as those scenarios are. But… what about his room? Donnie never gets rid of anything in there; he’s always packing it away into some nook or cranny to save for later, claiming they never know when they might need something.

Leo steps out of Raph’s way and points into Donnie’s bedroom. “You should look at this, then.”

Raph turns towards the open doorway, and moves closer to it. He reaches in, and as he turns on the light, Leo’s suspicions are confirmed.

The shelves of Donnie’s room are strangely empty, only a few books and miscellaneous objects left on them. His bed is neat and made, in a way it never is. His stacks of laptops are all gone.

Leo doesn’t see Donnie’s bo staff anywhere, and his brother hasn’t left it behind _anywhere_ in nearly two and a half years.

Mikey isn’t in his bed. Donnie’s stuff is missing. The Shellraiser is gone.

“Raph,” Leo says, feeling a little displaced from things. “Go look in Mikey’s room again. I’m texting them right away.”

Raph goes to look, and Leo goes to grab his phone. There are no texts from either of their brothers, nothing to explain where they might have gone. Leo sends a quick message to them both, asking where they’ve gone off to, and why Donnie’s rooms are so empty.

Raph comes back before Donnie or Mikey replies, and he’s starting to look the way he always does when he’s angry as well as worried.

“There’s nothing but garbage in there,” Raph says, which isn’t unusual, because Mikey’s room has always been a trash heap, but- “Literally just garbage. Everything else is gone.” Which is weird. Like Donnie’s empty room, lab, and the missing Shellraiser are weird. “Even that stupid stuffed bear he’s got is missing, and he never lets that thing leave his room.”

An uncomfortable feeling settles in Leo’s stomach.

Leo’s messages remain unanswered, but he sends another text anyways.

_What’s going on? Where did you go?_

Still no answer.

“Maybe they told April or Casey?” Leo suggests, taking his eyes off the small screen in his hands.

“Maybe,” Raph says in a way that means he doubts they did.

Leo frowns, and texts their friends anyways. Both of them reply within a few minutes, and say the same thing. They don’t know where Leo’s brothers have gone. Leo doesn’t truthfully answer their questions about why he’s asking; no sense in worrying them just yet. Not when there’s a high chance that Mikey’s just convinced Donnie of some convoluted scheme, somehow involving all their things disappearing, and the two of them will just come home soon enough. Or, it’s _Donnie_ who’s gone and gotten a harebrained scheme in that unfathomable skull of his, and the two of them are off getting into b-team shenanigans. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Leo still feels a curdle of worry in his gut, even with those assurances to himself, and shoots his brothers one last polite text reminding them to not be late for midnight training. Hopefully, it’s nothing; just his brothers getting up to trouble and not anything more.

Leo keeps that thought close to his chest, and doesn’t let himself worry too deeply. If he knows his brothers, they’ll probably resolve whatever’s going on on their own, or call for help if they can’t handle it. That’s the knowledge uses to soothe his concerns, and he lets it push the majority of them away.

And then Raph finds the note.

 

 

 

_Me and Donnie are taking ~~a vacation~~ a break from home for a while. Just a few weeks or something. ~~I’m really sorry but we just~~_

_We’re fine. There’s no bad guy or mind control or something something evil plot whatever. It’s just us ~~b-team~~ younger bros taking some time to ourselves. We’ll be back soon._

_~~Or whenever we sort out our shit which will be who the fuck knows when, like ha ha you wouldn’t believe the stupid stuff I got up in my head it’s one big fucking disas~~ _

_I can’t tell you where we went, and we didn’t tell anyone else. It’s a ~~private thing for us, we just need a little time~~ a secret retreat thing, like from anime or something. Chill time from home and chill time for you two from us. Win win, right? ~~I’m sorry, I know it’s a bad time but we just~~_

_Sorry we didn’t give you a heads up but ~~we were pretty sure you wouldn’t let us~~ we wanted it to be a surprise!_

_Surprise!!_

_Take care, we’ll come home whenever. Enjoy the vay-cay, kay?_

 

 

 

Leo calls Mikey right after finding the nearly illegible note, the crossed out words making everything else that much harder to read.

He doesn’t get an answer.

He calls again.

No one answers.

He calls Donnie.

Donnie doesn’t answer either.

He calls them both again, and again, and again.

Neither phone line is picked up. All Leo gets is the dial tone and then voicemail. Again and again.

Raph calls their friends meanwhile. April and Casey, the Mutanimals- even Karai, and by extension, Shinigami. Not one of them knows anything about what’s happened.

April comments she’s been getting less texts from Donnie lately, seen him hardly at all. Leatherhead- using the communal phone of the Mutanimals’ hideout- says he hasn’t seen Mikey in a while either. It’s not a comforting sign.

After the first two hours of calling and texting, to their brothers as well as their meager social group, Leo is beginning to get annoyed. A little hurt as well.

Donnie is more than smart enough to take care of himself, and Mikey is… well, Mikey. He made it through Dimension-X; he can make it through a couple nights on the streets of New York, especially with Donnie along for the ride. Leo knows that they’re not likely to be in any real danger, even with the military still side-eyeing them for the Tokka incident, and Don Vizioso’s anti-mutant sentiments. Between the two of them, they’ll be fine however long they want to drag out this misadventure.

But, Leo is annoyed that they picked up and left without warning, without asking _him_ permission. Their Sensei, their _leader._ He’s the one who makes final calls in this family, and the last two people he really expected to go AWOL have up and disappeared with hardly a goodbye. The messy note Mikey left them isn’t nearly enough of an explanation to anything.

And, he’s hurt. Because a vacation from the somewhat stifling walls of the lair would be nice, and they haven’t done anything as a group in a while. Leo feels excluded, considering that Donnie and Mikey will probably cook up all sorts of shenanigans together, and he’s been left out of it. Raph, too. Not very fair of them, since the four of them have always shared experiences equally. Including the fun ones.

They could have at least _hinted_ that they were thinking of doing this. Really. It wouldn’t have been that hard to give him and Raph a heads up. _A surprise-_ sure, that’s one way of spelling purposeful exclusion.

Leo is mildly worried, but mostly annoyed and surly. If anything, he expects Donnie to get sick of Mikey’s over-exuberance sooner than later, or Mikey to get bored of whatever long-winded science spiel Donnie has gotten caught up in tonight. They’ll come home soon enough, since he knows the two of them are such polar opposites they can’t share close quarters for more than a few hours without snapping.

One way or another, they’ll be back soon, and then Leo can sit them down and give them a thorough talking-to about desertion without warning, and disrespect to authority in general. Maybe he’ll ground them, too. He can do that now; he _is_ Sensei.

“What’s the smile for?” Raph asks moodily, glancing away from a comic he’s likely not really reading. He’s as annoyed and put-out as Leo is, the two of them sitting in the living room as they while away the hours until their brothers return home.

“I’m going to ground Donnie and Mikey for a whole week,” Leo says smugly. “whenever they get back, because I can and they deserve it.”

Raph considers that for a moment, and then grins. “Sounds about right. Forgot you could do that now.”

“It’s a perk of being Sensei,” Leo replies.

“Don’t go gettin’ a big head over it, though. And don’t try that shit on me.”

“I won’t if you don’t force me to.”

Raph’s good humor slips for a moment, and Leo sees that they’ve neared the line between seriousness and joking.

“Sure,” Raph says, going back to his comic. “whatever you say, Sensei.” He says the last bit with more than a hint of sarcasm, which Leo benevolently lets slide. He’s got enough problems with their brothers at the moment; no point in picking a fight with Raph right this second. If he did that every time Raph was rude to him, they’d never get anything done.

Leo chooses to brush away his concerns about his brothers and their issues with listening to his orders; returning to the novel in his hands. He’ll address Raph’s belligerent mini-rebellions sometime later, as well as Donnie and Mikey’s impromptu runaway attempt; which can’t last much longer than tonight and possibly tomorrow. They’ll drive each other nuts until they come home, and then everything will go back to normal once Leo’s punished them sufficiently for worrying their family.

The situation is still well under control, despite the first few hours of mild panic and anxiety. He’ll just wait for them to come home, talk to them about their poor choices and recklessness, and then they’ll all settle back into their routine again.

Simple, and all he has to do now is wait, and keep Raph’s temper under watch. Nothing unusual about their evening, just the two of them, except…

The lair is oddly empty, missing Donnie and Mikey’s presences.

Leo turns the page of his novel, and doesn’t think about that.

 

 

 

Leo texts his brothers once more before he goes to sleep, reminding them that what they’re doing is irresponsible and inconsiderate to the whole of their family. His other texts and calls remain ignored, and the final text does as well.

He’s a little miffed about that. Just because they’ve decided to take a trip doesn’t mean they should be ignoring him. It’s dangerous to them all to fall out of contact, not to mention plain disrespectful to Leo’s position as their Sensei.

He tucks those annoyances aside, and goes to sleep a little before the sun rises fully aboveground.

He wakes up expecting… he’s not sure what he’s expecting, but a quietly empty home isn’t what it.

Donnie and Mikey’s beds are still unslept in, and the Shellraiser is still gone. Leo’s phone has no texts from anyone other than his friends, asking if Donnie and Mikey have been located yet.

Leo expected his brothers to come home, at least one of them, sometime during the day or late afternoon. Donnie, because he never strays from his work in the lab longer than a few hours, or from their multiple vehicles needing attention in the garage. Mikey, because Leo’s youngest sibling is prone to lackadaisical jumps in interest, and is surely missing his games and TV by this point. One of them. Both of them.

Neither of them are home.

It’s just Leo, up at the same time as he always is, standing in a large, silent home. Alone.

He frowns, but tells himself that his siblings are due home soon enough, even if they’ve lasted on their own longer than he thought they would. Maybe their tolerance of each other’s eccentricities has gotten better without him noticing. Maybe they’re just being stubborn. Leo doesn’t really care; he just wants them back home where he can keep an eye on them both.

He goes through his hour long solo session. It’s not as calming as he’d hoped it to be, but he’s fine regardless. By the time Raph wanders out of his bedroom, twenty minutes past the half hour of his usual waking time, Leo is collected in his own mind again.

Raph gives him a mildly exasperated look, edging towards frustration. “They’re _still_ not home?” He asks, clearly having checked the same signs as Leo.

Leo shrugs. “No. I texted them again, but I haven’t gotten a reply even once.”

Raph narrows his eyes, and heads for the fridge. “Assholes. They could at least text back. Or I guess Donnie could; he’d probably give a better explanation than Mikey.”

Leo hums agreeably, because that’s a true enough assumption. “Pass me the milk? My coffee needs more than I thought.”

“Uh… can’t,” Raph says, lifting the carton out, squinting at the inside. “It’s kind of basically empty.”

“What? But Mikey said he went grocery shopping just a few days ago.”

“He probably _thought_ he did, but forgot,” Raph says with a roll of his eyes. He tosses the carton into the trash and goes looking in the fridge again. “Probably got distracted somewhere along the way, jeeze. And those two think they can make it on their own…”

Leo grumbles, and sips his not-milky-enough coffee. Mikey had been saying he was on top of all the grocery runs; all the evenings he’s been in and out the past while should have given him ample time to pick up what they needed. Likely speaking, Leo and Raph’s brother had been lying about actually being on top of things, and been just goofing off instead.

Leo adds milk to his list of items to take care of, and finishes his coffee. He’ll reprimand Mikey when he gets back for lying about his chores, particularly about one they all depend on.

There’s no hot food, again, and he and Raph have to settle for cereal without milk and dwindling leftovers.

Leo texts Mikey once for the forgotten chore subject, and then again as the night goes on; all without a single reply from either b-team member. The ignoring thing is definitely on purpose, which is really starting to bother Leo. They could at least say when they’ll be home, or where they’ve gone to hide and play.

Honestly, sometimes he thinks he’s the only one their father managed to raise with any sense of social awareness. Or any sense of responsibility.

Leo feels very often like he’s the only one to take their clan code, family code, anything code seriously. Their father’s word, as well. He doesn’t understand why Raph so often rebels, or Mikey flat out ignores, or Donnie just doesn’t even notice. The ways of their inherited clan, of their father’s teachings, are everything to Leo. Something to hold onto now that Splinter has passed, to provide stability and guidance. And yet his brothers still wander from them.

It’s confusing and irksome. But, Leo supposes that it’s just another sign of why he was destined to be the next clan leader, and his siblings were not. Clear as day, he’s better suited to the role.

Now if his brothers would just listen to him properly, everything would be perfect.

Leo spends the rest of the evening and night fielding concerned texts from April and Casey. They’re not getting answers from his brothers either and they’re actually starting to really worry. Leo reminds them not to; he knows his brothers better than anyone, and he knows they’ll be home soon. There’s nowhere else for them to go, and no one besides their small social group to reach out to. The moment they do, Leo will know minutes later. They can only avoid him and Raph for so long like this, without causing serious worry in their friends and annoyance in Leo and Raph.

Either they’ll come home tonight, or they’ll reach out to one of their mutual friends and reveal where they’ve gotten off to. In any case, it can’t be much longer until his siblings come home.

Leo hopes it’s soon, since Raph has begun stalking around moodily, rather than just sitting and reading. The punching bag is getting a fair amount of use the longer the night goes on, and Leo has a feeling Raph will have a _lot_ to say to their wayward siblings, once they’re home. They all know worrying Raph just makes him mad, and the longer you worry him the madder he’ll get. It’ll just get more dramatic the longer things drag out.

Likely how things will play out is their brothers will come home, Raph will snarl and smack them a little for making him worry, Leo will give them a stern lecture of responsibility and dedication, the two of them will be grounded for a week, and then Donnie and Mikey will apologize for having worried them so much. After that, it’ll all go back to normal.

Leo is confident in that scenario, even as his texts go unanswered and April and Casey begin expressing real concern.

 

 

 

Leo is confused why he wakes up the third night, and finds still only Raph in the lair with him.

The Shellraiser remains gone. Donnie and Mikey’s things remain gone. _They_ remain gone.

Leo is just plain annoyed at this point. How much longer can they really stand each other and keep up whatever ridiculous plan they have going? Not to mention the increasingly frustrating radio silence on their end.

 _You’re being incredibly immature, not even replying to our texts,_ he texts Mikey. And, _I thought out of the two of you, at least You’d be sensible enough to know when to cut the shenanigans,_ to Donnie. It’s a little passive-aggressive, but Leo feels he’s in the right at this moment in time. They’re being ridiculous, and he and Raph are suffering through unnecessary worry for it.

Not to mention they’ve missed multiple training sessions. How are they supposed to remain a well-oiled machine if one half of their team doesn’t even show up for training? Just because the Shredder is gone doesn’t mean they’re _safe._ They have to stay in shape, keep their reflexes sharp.

Donnie and Mikey don’t reply to his texts, and don’t come home either. Leo feels his annoyance grow about that, as well as his small pool of worry.

But that’s nothing compared to the steady climb of temper that Raph has going on. Three days, not a peep, and Leo is stuck with Raph alone as his brother reaches his tipping point. When he gets worried, Raph gets _mad-_ he gets mad about everything, it sometimes feels- and he tends to take it out on either whatever’s causing him worry, or the nearest person/object.

The punching dummy must feel special, getting so much attention.

Leo stays outside Raph’s range, and rolls his eyes as his brother grumbles and gripes.

Finally, on the wayside of late evening and after another unsatisfying breakfast of cold food, Raph throws his hands up and says, “I’m going back to the Mutanimals. Mikey’s probably been hanging around there, and maybe he’s let slip to Leatherhead where they’re hiding out.”

Leo considers the idea for a moment, and then decides to agree. It’s a solid enough guess; the idea of Mikey going to his favorite friend’s home and accidentally blabbing where he and Donnie have snuck off to. To add to that, Leo will check in with April again in case Donnie’s done the same with her.

His concern dies down, now that they’ve got a plan of action. Sometimes, even though their behavior’s purpose escapes him, Donnie and Mikey are predictable in where they’ll fall. It’s why they’re the B-team, and Leo and Raph are the A-team. Simple reasoning.

Mikey hasn’t been to the Mutanimals’ home at all, as it turns out. No phone calls either.

Raph kicks a nearby skate ramp as they get that news, startling Mondo Gecko enough he leaps to the other side of it. Leo just frowns and crosses his arms, staring up at Slash.

“Are you _positive_ they haven’t been here,” Leo asks again. “and that they didn’t, say, tell you to cover for them if they have?”

Slash’s own arms are crossed as he glares down at Leo. Leo refuses to shrink under the glare. He knew Slash when he was still Spike; munching on leaves and acting as Raph’s confidant. He’s not scared of the tortoise.

“ _No,_ they haven’t, and no, _we_ haven’t,” Slash growls out. “I wouldn’t keep that sort of thing from you, never mind from Raph. If they’d been here, you’d know already.”

Leo keeps frowning, nearly glaring himself, before he lets the expression drop. “Okay. Sorry for the suspicion, but… we’re just really starting to worry. They won’t reply to our texts at all.”

Slash’s own expression softens, and he puts a large hand on Leo’s shoulder. No one’s done that since his father died, and it feels somewhat uncomfortable. “I understand you’re feelin’ worried, Leo. Raph, too. I’ll keep my eye out for Don and Mike for you, and give word soon as I have a location or sighting, promise.”

“That’d be really appreciated,” Leo says truthfully, even as he subtly shakes off Slash’s hand. “Thank you for that, really.”

“And you will tell us the moment _you_ see them, correct?” Leatherhead rumbles from his position beside the skate ramp, near Mondo. The large croc mutant is giving Leo a serious look; one that means he really does want Leo to tell him the moment they find his brothers. Leo figures it’d be best to do just that, because while Leatherhead has mellowed over the years, his protectiveness of Mikey remains a real trigger for his anger. At least it’ll work in their favor, the croc mutant’s desire to see Mikey and Donnie safe being the same as Leo and Raph’s.

“Of course,” Leo agrees easily, giving an encouraging and confident smile to Leatherhead. “and then I’ll send Mikey your way right after, alright?”

Leatherhead nods slowly, accepting Leo’s words of comfort.

Raph, however, growls out, “Yeah, right after I’m done knockin’ the little turd’s head straight again. Donnie’s too, if this keeps up. God.”

Leo sighs at Raph’s, as usual, aggressive language and poorly hidden concern. It’s been grating on his nerves, almost as much as his own worry has been. And really, talking like that in front of Leatherhead probably isn’t the smartest move. If Leo can control his own worry, then Raph should be able to, too.

They make a stop by April’s home on the way back to their own, to check in if she’s heard anything from Donnie as well as to just say hi, but find her room dark and empty. No other lights are on in the apartment either, which means Kirby is sleeping and they’re not welcome.

It strikes Leo a little odd, that April is gone so late in the night without even a greeting their way, but he settles for just shooting a questioning text. She doesn’t reply immediately, which makes him frown. Does _anyone_ on this team respect his authority anymore? He’s beginning to doubt it. And it’s odd feeling, too. They’ve come so far as a team, been through so much and come out stronger for it. It’s bizarre how they’re falling out of sync; first Leo’s brothers, then April…

The feeling that he’s losing control of his own team, not long after becoming their _Sensei_ , is another tick on Leo’s list of frustrations. He’s worked so hard for so long- and just when he’s achieved what he views as the final step, they start tearing up his hard work?

His father trusted him to keep their family together, to guide his brothers and friends. The fact that his team is trying to break away like this, break up everything he and they have worked for- it’s just not something he can tolerate quietly.

He’s worried about his brothers, and partially about April, but he’s starting to be more so angry with them. He doesn’t understand why any of them are doing the things they are, and that lack of understanding just makes his anger harder to tamp down on.

Raph bumps into Leo as they get home, and his brother snaps _“watch it”_ as he does. Which makes Leo’s eyes narrow, and his own carefully controlled temper hitch for a moment.

“Just because you’re worried, doesn’t mean you get to be _rude,_ Raph.”

“ _Piss off,”_ is Raph’s imaginative response, stalking away further into the lair.

Leo’s mouth forms a flat, unimpressed line, and his words are just as. “I already have two brothers being troublemakers at the moment, I don’t need _another.”_ When Raph keeps walking, Leo raises his voice. “That means _you_ , Raph.”

“Oh go fuck yourself, Leo,” Raph snaps back over his shoulder. “I got enough problems; I don’t need you nit-pickin’ everything I do, too. I’m not your lackey.”

“No, you’re my _student,_ and I’m your _Sensei,_ and you’re supposed to listen to what I have to say,” Leo’s tone gets sharper with each word, like the prickly feelings in his chest do. “Whether you like it, or not.”

His brother pauses, and turns to give a narrow look. “I told you not to try that shit with me,” Raph says in a low tone. “Splinter might’ve said you got all that authority, but I’m not gonna roll over and let you make me fall in line. I’m not Donnie or Mikey.”

Leo scoffs. “Like either of them are doing that at the moment.”

“Maybe they’ve got the right idea.”

Leo’s flat grimace turns downwards.

“What did you say to me?”

“I _said,”_ Raph says, taking a step back towards the lair entrance. “maybe they’ve got the right idea. You’re kind of a jackass when you get it in your head like this, fearless. So maybe you might wanna step off before you lose another _student_ of yours.”

Leo’s fists curl themselves, and he feels prickly hot anger rise up in him. _“Excuse me?”_

“You heard me,” Raph says, teeth bared, his entire posture asking for a fight. “Back off.”

Leo takes a slow breath, and then steps down the stairs. He strides slowly across the stone floor, right into Raph’s space as his brother does the same. Leo is taller, so he looks down at Raph as they don’t break eye contact.

“Are you _really_ so desperate to be the rebellious second son,” Leo says, slow and pointed. “that you’d spit on what- what your own father _, our father,_ told us? The very _last_ thing he ever told us?”

The flash of pain and grief Leo sees in Raph’s eyes is what he intended to put there. Raph doesn’t get to act like he’s the only one angry, or hurt, or worried; not when Leo is just as. Their father’s word is something Leo still holds higher than anything, and to have Raph defy it so openly, after all the grief they’ve gone through since Splinter’s death- it’s not something Leo can let slide.

Raph’s shoulders rise as his teeth clench, and Leo more than expects the tide of fury that follows.

 _“You take that_ _back,”_ Raph hisses through his teeth.

“Am I wrong?” Leo asks, because he’s tired and tense and Raph doesn’t get to act like this. Not without someone pushing back against all his antagonistic behavior. “You were always looking for a reason to push the boundary of his rules, and now you’re looking to do the same with _mine._ ”

“Shut up.”

Leo pushes on, because he’s been keeping himself so tightly wound and clashing with Raph has always pushed him over the limit. Their brothers are missing, their friends are no help, and Leo needs an outlet. Raph gets to lose it- so why can’t he? “Our father made one, _one_ last request, and you can’t even respect that. No, you have to keep pushing and pushing and keep looking for another reason, as always, to start yet _another_ fight with someone-”

Raph’s shoulders shake. “I said _shut up.”_

Leo’s lips curl back, and he keeps going. Keeps going with all the hot-terrible things that’ve built up inside him for _years._ “-because you’re bored, or tired, or grumpy, or hell, just _feel like it,_ because you’re the _second_ son who’s just jealous he didn’t get to be the _first_ son, or the leader, or hear the last request our father ever made to us-”

Leo cuts off, because Raph punches him in the jaw.

 

 

 

Leo doesn’t talk to Raph the entire fourth day. Raph doesn’t talk to Leo the entire fourth day.

Neither of them makes any effort to breach the bitter, frustrated silence in their home.

Leo’s jaw, chest, and shoulders hurt from where Raph laid into him. From the way Raph limps slightly in and out of the kitchen- the single moment of eye contact between them the entire night- Leo knows his brother is also smarting from their fight.

They haven’t fought like this is a long while; most of their disagreements remaining in words only. Physical fighting hasn’t been brought into things for possibly years. Mostly, it was Raph and Mikey who got physical in their arguments. Or, it was Raph who got physical; Mikey just ran his mouth until he got shut up.

Leo is properly angry now. Angry with Raph, for causing extra trouble Leo does not need to deal with right now, and angry with their brothers for causing this fight in the first place. It’s Donnie and Mikey’s fault, disappearing and stirring up discourse in their family. If they’d just stayed home, stayed in line, then Leo and Raph wouldn’t be fighting, and neither of them would be angry with their brothers.

Leo’s bruised jaw throbs when he touches it, and it feels like his rising and receding temper.

Four days without even a _how do you do_ and Donnie and Mikey stubbornly remain out of contact. April continues to be AWOL, _another_ person Leo can’t keep track of, and Casey’s texts and calls keep being useless check-ins to see if there’s any new info. The Mutanimals’ are unhelpful, Karai won’t answer her phone, and Shinigami only picked up hers once to tell Leo they’re _busy_ and can’t talk-

Everything is falling apart, and Leo blames his younger brothers for causing it all the happen.

“What would _you_ do, father?” Leo asks the altar, rubbing his throat scars. They itch tonight, like the ones on his leg so. They always itch when he starts getting really stressed out.

He looks at the pictures of his father, at the one center of the altar, and waits for an answer.

None come to him.

Leo stares at his father’s photograph for a moment longer, feeling the ebb and flow of grief that strikes right to his core, and then turns away.

He goes and sits where his father always did, Splinter’s favorite meditation spot in front of their tree. A part of him is comforted by the action, and another is saddened that he is even allowed to sit in this spot now. A part of him remains angry; a part of him is hurt and tired.

Mostly, he’s frustrated, and he just wants his brothers to come home so things will go back to normal.

Leo closes his eyes, and tries to meditate away the worst of his anger. It only works to a point.

He sends another few texts to Donnie and Mikey, reminding them they have to come home, that they should know just how much grief they’re causing everyone with their increasingly ridiculous stubbornness, and that the longer this goes on, the worse the consequences for them all will be.

After they’re sent, he finds he doesn’t really feel better for writing those things out. He reminds _himself_ that his words are justified, that he’s in the _right_ \- but it doesn’t really matter either way. He gets no answer.

The fourth day ends like so. Leo goes to sleep, tight and unhappy in his chest. He doesn’t even say good morning to Raph before that, and the messages in his phone do nothing to fix anything.

 

 

 

The next evening, there’s an unspoken resolution to the argument. Raph wakes up a full half hour past when he usually does, and sits down across from Leo; who has added an extra half hour solo workout session. Neither of them says _sorry,_ but the fight is dropped regardless.

They finish the last of the bread together for toast, share the butter bowl by passing it back and forth, and Raph gets the jam from the fridge when asked. Maybe he feels badly for throwing the first punch, like Leo feels badly for going too far with his words.

Leo doesn’t ask. He takes the jam, eats his bland tasting whole wheat toast, and silently agrees to the ceasefire.

“Casey says April stopped answering her phone,” Raph says conversationally, a little while after breakfast. The two of them are in the dojo; Leo doing slow tai-chi, and Raph doing bicep curls with a weight. “You think it’s because she’s with Donnie and Mikey?”

Leo breathes out slowly as he moves through his steps, thinking on that idea. “Possibly. She and Donnie are close, so I wouldn’t put it past him to have convinced her to do something like that.”

“Hn. I’ll bet Mikey did somethin’ like that with Leatherhead. Slash keeps saying they haven’t been through, but you know… we didn’t get to talk with Leatherhead directly.”

A good point. “Do you think we should try them again?”

Raph grunts, and switches hands. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

They finish the half-hearted workout, and take the Party Wagon over to the Mutanimals’ hideout. The exchange goes about as well as Leo should’ve expected.

Raph’s temper had only just been mildly curbed from their fight, and Leo’s refocused calm slips easier than he wants it to. He admits in private that they’d gotten a tad forceful and sharp with their allies, after the fifth time Leatherhead had growled that he didn’t know where their brothers had gone, or _why_ they’d gone.

An unsettled itch is making itself home in Leo’s spine, standing in the Mutanimals’ base and arguing without any real gain or purpose. That itch persists, prickly and unpleasant, and it does nothing to help Leo’s negotiative skills during the argument.

Leo might’ve snapped a little, and Raph definitely yelled a bit. Even if it resulted in Leatherhead rising up and reminding them how much _larger_ he is than them, and Slash yelling right back at them that they’re all just as worried about Leo’s brothers- a part of Leo feels at least a little better, having gotten a chance to vent a portion of his frustrations. Even if it’d been misdirected.

The itch remains in his spine and senses, even as Leo turns away from the Mutanimals and goes to exit the hideout. He tries to brush it off along with the residual angry feelings festering in his chest, and it only stays with him for another few blocks from the hideout.

They leave no more informed than they had the other times. And, as they drive past April’s apartment, they see no sign of lights on at all. Either she’s asleep early, for the first time in a long, long time, or she’s still out and about and completely AWOL. Leo is betting on the second.

“D’you wanna check for sure?” Raph asks in a subdued tone, leaning out the passenger window. Now that he’s gotten out the more explosive parts of his temper, Leo knows he’ll be less likely to cause any more fights.

“No,” Leo replies, and pushes down on the gas. “I seriously doubt she’ll be home.”

“’cause that’d be too easy,” Raph mutters belligerently. Leo hums in agreement, and drives them back home. He’d take them to check in with Karai and Shinigami, but when he’d called earlier he had been told very clearly, and curtly, by Shinigami that they were still busy with something. And then she’d hung up on him, because people were just _so_ polite to Leo lately.

They meander with errands for a while; hitting the nearest grocery stores and picking up the food Mikey had failed to bring home like he was supposed to. They have to actually commit property damage tonight, slicing the wires of cameras to avoid being seen. Usually, it's Donnie’s job to hack the system and set up a video loop for however long they’re inside.

But then, Donnie isn’t here, because he’s missing just like Mikey is.

The abandonment of their jobs only serves to further ruin Leo’s mood. Raph’s sullen silence notes clearly that he feel the same way. They grab what they need, and don’t talk about their current grievances out loud.

The drive home is quiet; just the groceries in the canvas bags between them making any noise. It’s probably for the best, since their moods would likely spark another fight. Leo’s jaw is only just starting to stop feeling painful. He doesn’t need a twin on the other side.

They get into the tunnel garage, parking the Party Wagon and getting out, just before Raph’s t-phone rings.

When he answers it, Leo sees Raph’s eyes go wide.

“You fucking _kidding me?”_ Raph spits. He yanks back open the car door. “Get the hell back in, Leo. Mikey _just_ left the Mutanimals’ place.”

Leo spares a fleeting moment of confusion, shock- and then burns rubber.

They get there too late, and have no luck scouring the surrounding area for any sign of Mikey. Leo curses loud as Raph does, because it figures the _one time_ Mikey really utilizes some of his skills and brainpower, it’s to keep avoiding his own family.

When Leo marches into the Mutanimals’ hideout, he does so with the intent to chew out Slash, for letting Leatherhead overrule his team leader’s orders, for letting him overrule _Leo’s_ orders about immediately tipping them off of Mikey’s location- but comes up short as Leatherhead looms over him and Raph both.

A stutter in his momentum, but Leo recovers and says, “We had an agreement. The moment you heard from or found my brothers, you were supposed to _tell me_ , tell us _both._ Not- just let him _run off_ again- do you know how _worried_ we’ve been about him-?”

 _“You have no right to be_ ,” Leatherhead abruptly growls harshly. And that makes Leo stop for a moment, if only because of the absurdity of that sentence.

“Excuse me?” Leo says, and he means every bit of sharpness to his words.

Leatherhead takes a step into Leo’s space as well as Raph’s, and Leo is reminded once again that he’s much smaller than the crocodile mutant. He takes an involuntary step backwards as Leatherhead’s maw of teeth opens in front of him.

“You have. No _right.”_ Leatherhead says again, huge fists curling and uncurling; claws on display. Leatherhead’s eyes move slowly to Raph, and narrow with open hostility. “Neither of you do. And…” He turns back to Leo, and in that second, Leo remembers that he’s never actually won a fight against Leatherhead.

“You are both _very lucky_ Michelangelo told me not to do anything.”

“...what the _hell_ are you talking about?” Raph asks, equal parts furious and confused.

Leo’s hand is on his sword before he realizes the subconscious movement; because Leatherhead’s deep throated growl goes right through his plastron. He feels Raph similar tension beside him, and knows his brother’s hands are on his sais. None of them move.

The large mutant looks down at them for a long moment- and Leo can _feel_ him looking down on them in more ways than one- before saying, “It’s not my place to explain,” and turning his back on them.

Leatherhead leaves, long tail dragging across the floor, and with the parting words of, “Leave my home, and leave your brothers alone. That is all I have to say to you.”

It takes a full minute, after Leatherhead ushers Mondo out of the room with him and it’s just Slash and Dr. Rockwell left- but Raph explodes into the furious shouting he always does. He and Slash both bellow at one another, defending and accusing and taking turns with each, while Dr. Rockwell futilely tries to mediate the growing fight.

 _“I don’t care if he’ll ditch you guys if you talk- he’s_ my _little brother, he’s_ your _family,_ OUR _FAMILY- Slash I swear to god, tell me what Mikey told Leatherhead or I’ll-”_

_“-I can’t! Leatherhead’s our heaviest hitter, we lose half our fighting strength if he goes-”_

_“I. Don’t. CARE-”_

_“-well I DO, this is MY TEAM on the line, Raphael-”_

_“-and this is MY LITTLE BROTHER-”_

Leo stares at the direction Leatherhead retreated in, and feels a sickening coil of anger and insult rise up in his stomach. It’s joined by the swirling confusion of what the _hell_ Mikey told Leatherhead to make him so mad, and Leo can’t manage the tide of emotions as they mix together. The spread to his head, and he feels a buzz start in the back of his skull.

He joins the fight with Slash. It’s not much of a relief from the noise in his head.

Leo doesn’t care if Slash was forced into silence- he should have called anyways. Mikey is _their brother,_ and Slash knew _exactly_ what he was supposed to have done. Dr. Rockwell too, who Leo doesn’t forget during the fight. If anyone in the Mutanimals should have seen sense, it’s the primate. And yet, and _yet._

None of them called when they should have, and Leo’s brother slipped out of his grasp a second time.

He and Raph only leave the hideout because Slash decks Raph across the face, sending the smaller mutant sprawling on the floor, and orders them to leave. Dr. Rockwell adds a quieter sentiment to that, which is that they leave only until everyone can talk rationally.

Slash snaps at the primate to stay out of things, barely beating Leo to it.

Raph is still snarling and shouting at Slash- Leo doesn’t catch all of it, but it has to do with Slash throwing the trust Raph placed in him back into his face. He grabs his brother by the edge of his shell, resulting in the snarling being turned on him, and hauls Raph to his feet.

Leo glares at Slash, whose large fists remain curled and ready to throw a second punch. There’s a cut across Raph’s cheek, from Slash’s spiny knuckle cartilage, and it’s dripping red steadily across the scales of his cheek.

“We had a _deal,”_ Leo hisses as a final statement. “You said you would _call us.”_

“Get out,” Slash spits back. “I’m sorry, but get _out.”_

They get out.

Raph tears into his punching dummy, not seconds after they enter their home, and Leo goes to the dojo.

He draws the weapons he’d been restraining himself from.

Leo’s swords slice through the air faster and faster, cold anger settling in his body even more now that they’re away from the situation. There’s nothing to cut, but Leo acts as if there is. As if there’s an enemy he can’t see, but can cut down anyways, and send the severed limbs rolling across the mats one after another until he gets to the head and _then-_

His sword slashes across the tree trunk, and Leo jolts out of his haze.

He stares at the gash in the bark; inner wood exposed and splintered. It’s a fresh wound on a trunk that hasn’t been scoured in years. Not since they were children and learning to aim their throwing weapons.

The gash is wide enough to fit his finger. It’ll take years for it to grow over.

Leo dully realizes his arms ache and that he’s out of breath. His scars itch and his knee burns from lack of care with his movements.

Leo sheathes his swords, and turns his back on the damage he’s done to the tree.

His footsteps feel shaky as he leaves the dojo; Leo can’t tell how long he’s been shadow fighting, but it’s been long enough that as he emerges, he finds Raph surrounded by stuffing and sand.

Raph turns a dark and miserable look towards Leo, and doesn’t move from his position sat among the ruins of the former punching dummy. The cut on his cheek has scabbed, and it twists as Raph speaks.

“I’m gonna kill that idiot,” Raph says, low and angry. “Pulling this shit, makin’ Leatherhead turn on us and fucking up everything- I’m gonna _kill him.”_

Leo’s confusing swirl of offence, anger, and hurt rise in his throat, and he’s inclined to agree with Raph’s temper for once.

 

 

 

The sixth night comes and goes. Leo spends it with Raph, scouring the whole area surrounding the Mutanimals’ residence. They circle the hideout further and further out, searching for signs of a hidden lair entrance.

They don’t find any, their messages continue to go unanswered, and the night ends with an even sourer note than that. Leo finally decides that going to see Karai face to face might be the only way to get her to talk to him, and goes to see her while Raph goes to see Casey.

Leo drops onto the church rooftop, expecting to be let inside by the hidden sentries on top of it- but is stopped by a black and red ninja appearing out of the shadows.

“Master Karai is indisposed of for the evening,” She says, calm and cool. “You’ll have to come back another time.”

Leo nearly splutters. Really? _Still?_

“Couldn’t I wait inside for her?” Leo asks, keeping his voice level despite his annoyance. He’s already dealt with so many incredibly frustrating things tonight; he doesn’t want to have to add _another_ check to that list.

“No. When she returns, Shinigami left explicit instructions to keep anyone from bothering the master. I apologize for the inconvenience, kappa-san, but you will have to come back tomorrow.”

That won’t do. Leo needs to have at least _one thing_ go right this week, and being able to talk to Karai might help him figure out how to fix all the other things. “I’m her _brother,”_ Leo says, exasperated. “Can’t you guys make an exception for me?”

The foot ninja’s response is as deadpan as her mask.

“No.”

Leo bites his tongue, tamping down on rude words that want to come out. He nods tersely. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Tell her I was here. Please.” The last part is an effort to get out, the accumulated grievances in Leo’s life putting a strain on his politeness and patience.

“I will tell master Karai you wanted to see her, don’t worry,” The ninja gives a shallow bow. “Goodnight, kappa-san.”

Leo bows in return, and continues to bite down his frustrations. He leaves the church roof in an even worse mood than he’d been in before.

He stares at his phone when he gets home, at the unanswered conversations in his messages. He hadn’t ever cared before, but now he wishes that Donnie had programmed the t-phones to show when someone read the sent messages; at least then Leo would know they were seeing his texts.

He’s angry, and hurt, and really getting worried. Six days is longer than he’s ever known his brothers to be mad at him, or at Raph. And the longer things drag out, the more Leo feels he’s losing control of his life.

 

 

 

The seventh night, an entire week into Donnie and Mikey’s disappearances, comes and goes similarly. The lair remains half empty, their texts and calls unanswered, and even with attempts to negotiate with Leatherhead for information, they get nowhere.

Leatherhead growls when Raph tries to speak in the conference call, threatening and deep, and hangs up on them. Slash calls back, but they don’t get anywhere with him either. Slash is stuck between them and Leatherhead, who has made it very clear he’ll leave the Mutanimals if Slash tries to hand over any information about Mikey.

Leo and Raph, especially Raph, push for Slash to reveal it anyways. Once Mikey is home and can talk Leatherhead down, everything will be fine. It won’t be that big of deal for Slash to tell them about Mikey and Donnie’s whereabouts, especially with their safety on the line.

Slash doesn’t budge.

_“Donnie and Mikey’ll show up soon enough, I can’t risk losin’ Leatherhead because I went behind his back. And I don’t even know much more than what Leatherhead told us after Mikey swung through. Pushin’ me for info won’t be worth it. Besides, they’re not in any serious trouble, and how long d’you think they’re really gonna be gone? It’s already been a week. They’ll come back sooner than later.”_

_They’ll come back sooner than later._

Leo’s been telling himself that all along, but it’s already been a full week. The longest he’s ever known Donnie to hold a grudge is a few hours, maybe a day, and Mikey can never seem to stay angry longer than a few seconds.

It feels so unlike them, doing this.

And Leo still doesn’t even know _why_ they are. Leatherhead clearly knows, and even as Raph tries again to get Slash to tell them, it looks more and more like that knowledge will be kept from them.

They could have at least hinted at why they left. If it’s some petty argument they had and Leo forgot about, then he’ll apologize. If it’s a petty argument they had with _Raph,_ then Leo will make Raph apologize.

It’d be as simple as talking it out, and then things could back to normal.

Leo feels annoyed _and_ worried, the way his brothers haven’t done so.

It’s not like them. It’s not like them at all.

 

 

 

The eighth night, Leo finally gets to see Karai. It’s a brief spot of calm; the stress in his chest lessening just for being with her in the church.

“I just don’t… understand,” Leo confides in her, watching his sister strap gauntlets and hidden knives to her person. He’s been allowed inside the headquarters, but warned Karai will be leaving soon enough. He’ll take what he can get, even if he feels pushed aside and ignored. “They shouldn’t have anything to be angry about with us. I’ve been trying to pick out something that’d piss them off to make them do this… and I get nothing. We’ve been doing just fine. Why would they run off, and then make Leatherhead angry with us, too, if everything was going fine?”

“I don’t know, Leo,” Karai says, sliding her signature tanto across the back of her hips. She turns to face Leo, crossing her arms. “Maybe they really did just need some time away from home, like you said Mikey’s note explained.”

“Yeah, but… that doesn’t explain Leatherhead’s behavior. If it’s really just a vacation, then why turn him on us like that? I just can’t figure it out. None of this makes any sense. It’s all so… out of character for them to do this. Right?”

Karai shrugs. “Maybe. You’ve known them longer than I have, obviously speaking. But I do know they’re capable of taking care of themselves, that much I’ve learned over the years. They’ll probably be back soon.”

Leo folds his fingers together, squeezing his six digits against one another. He stares at the floor under his feet, tracing the carpet designs of Karai’s private weapon inventory. “Everyone keeps saying that… but they won’t even respond to my calls. I’m worried. Aren’t you?”

“…truth be told, no,” Karai replies evenly. “Like I said, they can take care of themselves. I know they’ll be fine from personal experience; don’t forget how many times I tried to off you four when we were enemies still. You should just give them space until they come back.”

Leo grimaces, feeling now familiar worry and frustration rise in his throat. “But I’ve been telling them to come home _now,_ or at least contact us. I’m their Sensei; they have to listen to me about these things. I gave them orders.”

Karai snorts. “Yeah, and how well did that work out?”

Leo looks up from his staring contest with his feet; sending a displeased look in Karai’s direction. “This is _serious_ , Karai. You shouldn’t make a joke about my brothers disobeying a direct order from their leader- who knows how much danger they could get into if we don’t stay in contact?”

Karai _rolls her eyes_ at him, and says, “Leo, they’re big boys. They’ll be fine.”

Leo blusters. “But I don’t know that for sure! They won’t call, won’t text- how am I supposed to really know they’re okay?”

“You could try trusting them,” Karai says, still not treating the situation with the gravity it deserves.

 “I _do_ trust them!” Leo snaps, and then he collects himself as Karai raises an eyebrow at the outburst. “I do trust them. It’s just. I want them home, where I can keep an eye on them. I can’t make sure they’re safe if they’re off gallivanting who knows where.”

Karai shrugs a second time. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Leo. Sometimes you can make something happen right away, and sometimes you just have to wait for the next step to presents itself.”

Leo starts to say that that’s not something he can do, they’re his brothers and he needs to find them, ask them what’s going on and _why_ they’re making it happen-

But April walks in through the side door to the armory, and Leo’s thought process derails itself.

 _“April??”_ He exclaims, staring at his friend, decked head to toe in black and silver gear. She freezes, wide eyes going to him.

April raises a weak wave to him, giving an awkward half-smile. “Oh. Uh. Hi, Leo.”

Leo recovers from his utter shock, and says, “What are you doing here? Where- is this where you’ve been all week? I’ve been calling you like crazy, and you couldn’t even text back _once_ to tell me?”

“I’ve been- busy,” April says, not looking directly at him. Her feet shift on the carpet, arms crossed behind her back, and Leo spots the bright red mark on her shoulder guard right then.

“You joined the _Foot clan?”_ He gapes incredulously. “Without _telling me?”_

April’s eyes flicker to him, and there’s an unusual intentness to her examination of him. Leo doesn’t know what to make of that; he’s too busy feeling like someone’s yanked the rug a little bit more out from under his feet.

April joined the _Foot clan?_ And she hadn’t even dropped a text with him to ask permission, or give notice, or _anything??_

“I hired her,” Karai says, interrupting Leo and April’s stare off. “She owes me a favor, I like having someone who isn’t a complete moron work for me. It worked out alright.”

Leo looks between the two of them, dumbfounded and utterly shocked. “But- she’s _my_ student. I didn’t give either of you permission for this- I _wouldn’t_ have given either of you permission for this! My brothers are _missing_ , Karai, I can’t lose any more teammates than I already have!”

Karai raises her brows, unimpressed, and April says something too low for Leo to catch.

“What?”

“I said,” April raises her voice. “that last I checked, I didn’t have to ask you for permission to make my own choices.” She continues, despite the stare Leo is giving her. “I. I needed something to do. I needed something to keep my mind off Splinter, and help with Donnie and Mikey. Karai gave me a job, and… it’s been good. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but the last week has been hectic. I couldn’t have my phone on half the time, and the rest I was training or sleeping.”

Leo keeps staring at April, and it feels like he’s looking at someone who only just resembles his friend.

April has new armor, rather than her old black and yellow tracksuit. Her hair is braided back tightly, and Leo counts least three different types of concealed weapons around her waist; to add to the sword across her hips and the tessen fan on her thigh. She looks more like a Foot clan ninja than she does a Hamato one, and it feels like a betrayal.

“How- how could you do this?” Leo asks, throat tight and his fists tighter. “You didn’t tell any of us, didn’t even bother to try- don’t you care that Donnie and Mikey are gone? This isn’t the time to be running around, or goofing off-”

“I haven’t been!” April cuts him off. She draws herself up, squaring her shoulders and looking him dead in the eye. “I’ve been all over the city all week, with Karai and Shinigami- I look in every neighborhood we go through. I check with every lowlife we beat up if they’ve seen them. I’ve been searching for them since the very first night, Leo, so don’t you dare try to say I’ve been _goofing off.”_

Leo reels, caught off-guard by April’s defensiveness. Why is everyone like this lately? His brothers never ran off like this before, April never snapped so blatantly at him- what’s even going on with his family anymore?

Leo shakes off his shock. “ _Still._ We need you with _us_ , April, not… what have you even been doing all week?”

“She’s been helping me take back my territories,” Karai interjects before April can speak. Leo’s eyes turn to his sister, who is standing with a straight back and commanding posture. “We have a lot of ground to cover, since most of the Foot’s territory claims were nullified when Shredder started going crazy. Practically the entire city needs to be beaten back into the submission, and having a well-trained psychic on the team speeds things up.”

Leo gapes for a second time, head spinning to catch up with all the implications of that explanation. “You’re- you’re starting up the criminal activities of the Foot again? April, you’re _helping them?_ After everything we did to take them down?”

April averts her eyes a second time from Leo, turning her set expression towards the sword rack instead. “Karai is different from the Shredder. This is different.”

“This is _business,”_ Karai says, striding across the room towards April. “It’s what the Foot clan does best, and it’s what I was raised to inherit. And I’ll see to it I get every damn scrap of power I was promised, just to give Shredder one last ‘ _fuck you’_.” She glances over her shoulder at Leo, and shoots a raised eyebrow his direction. “And really, Leo, what did you expect me to do once I got control of the clan again?”

Leo is at a loss for words.

He feels betrayed in so many ways. All their efforts to dissolve the Foot clan’s hold on New York, and Karai is undoing all that work deliberately? April _knew that,_ and willingly is helping? And _neither_ of them saw fit to even _mention it_ to him?

He considers both of the women in front of him as close friends, as family, and yet they did this. Just like his brothers ran off without a goodbye, and just like Leatherhead, one of the very first mutants they ever met besides themselves, turned on him.

“How could you?” Leo asks, and he’s not sure if it’s April or Karai he’s talking to.

April still won’t look at him, and Karai’s attention is stolen by a Foot ninja appearing in the open doorway.

“We’re ready, master Karai,” He says in a low voice, bowing as he does. Karai nods, and dismisses him with a wave of her hand.

“We’re going now,” She says, turning back to Leo one last time. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have a limited opportunity to raid an enemy warehouse of a hefty weapon’s cache. If we see Donnie or Mikey, we’ll call, but otherwise our phones won’t be on. Good luck finding your brothers; we’ll see you later.”

And then Karai walks out, following the ninja that had come to retrieve them. April starts to follow, but glances back once more. Her expression isn’t one Leo can’t read properly; showing no hint of what she’s thinking at the moment.

“April,” Leo says, hurt creeping into his chest.

April ducks her head, turning her back on him. “I’m sorry, Leo,” She says stiffly. “but I have to go.”

April walks away, following the same dark hallway Karai had disappeared into. Leo is left alone in the armory, by himself and short yet another two members of his family.

 

 

 

Leo spends all of evening ten searching for his brothers.

If they won’t contact him, and Leatherhead won’t give him any information, then Leo will just go find them himself.

It’s easier to just keep running all night, over rooftops and subdued streets, than it is to think. First his brothers, then Leatherhead, and now April…

They’re all slipping out of his control, and it makes Leo feel like he’s slipping, too.

He’s supposed to be their leader, their Sensei- and none of them are respecting his authority at all. Maybe Leatherhead isn’t technically under his direct command, but the Mutanimals have always been a backup to Leo’s team. The rebellion is sudden and unexpected, and Leo has to bite down harder and harder on his frustration with the other mutants.

April, too. He’d never expected her to just- go off. Ditch them all and join a completely different team. He’s angry with her for doing that, and for refusing to take back her choice.

The only spot of good in that snarl right there, is that at least Leo knows she hasn’t been hiding his brothers from him. If April is still searching for Donnie and Mikey, than she didn’t have any hand in them disappearing. It’s a slim comfort, that.

Leo finds no suitable spots for his brothers to live. Most buildings are too likely to be intruded in, and he can’t find any traces of an underground lair entrance. And when he goes underground to double check, the sewer tunnels offer no better trails to follow; just damp corridors.

He’s circling outwards from the lair’s location; combing the city for his brothers. Despite the steady search pattern, and the long, long few hours he spends going everything with an intent eye- he finds absolutely nothing.

He’s worried. He’s angry. He’s really starting to get close to being truly furious.

After everything they’ve been through together, after everything he did to make this team _work-_ his brothers and April _ditch him_.

He’s their leader. Their Sensei. They shouldn’t be able to do this.

Leo goes home to a mostly empty house, tired and aching in his legs. None of his messages have been answered, and Raph is only present for a moment; side-eyeing Leo only once before he locks himself in his room, and starts up a racket with his drum kit.

Leo takes his turmoil of frustrations and goes to the dojo.

His swords slice through the air fast as he can push himself. His knee complains, the tender healed muscles protesting under the long hours of stress- but he pushes through the ignorable pain.

He loses track of time for a bit, narrowing his world to just the steady movements he knows so well. The thoughts of his family defying him, ignoring him, and abandoning him- they fade to a dull buzz on the edge of his mind. It gives Leo, for a time, space outside the growing anxieties in his chest.

He only stops once his arms have started to shake badly, exhaustion catching up with him completely. Leo’s sword tips scratch the mats as he lowers his weapons; breathing coming fast and harsh.

The clock on the wall reads nearly seven in the morning. He’s long past his routine bedtime.

That’s just one more part of his life that seems to be unraveling itself.

Leo doesn’t go to bed, so much as passes out as soon as he’s horizontal. It’s hardly any relief.

 

 

 

The second week passes, without a single sign of acknowledgement from Mikey or Donnie.

Leo hasn’t had good food in a while; he didn’t notice until Mikey left that his brother had taken over majority of the kitchen tasks. Nearly everything he and Raph scrounge up is either instant, burnt, or a combination of the two. It makes for a lot of sullen mealtimes, and more often than not leftovers no one really wants to eat.

The fridge is starting to make a weird clunking noise when the fan comes on. Either something is plugged, or slipped out of its spot, or who knows what. They could pull it out and take a look, but neither of them even knows what they would be looking at. The appliances were always something Donnie took care of.

Both the crap food and the crapping out electronics make the mealtimes unpleasant. Mostly for the reminders they represent.

The table has two too many chairs for its current occupants. It’s unsettling, both of those stools remaining empty for how long they have.

April is increasingly scarce in their social group; the only hint she’s still around at all comes through Casey, relaying that he’s seen her during the day, and brief glimpses of her in the church when Leo drops by. When April passes Leo by in these moments, her eyes linger on him with a look he can’t decipher.

He’s still bitter about her leaving them, abandoning the clan and team that made her a ninja, and Leo meets her eyes with a cold look whenever they enter the same spaces. He never gave her permission to leave them, not when they’re already missing two of their family members. This is the time when they should be banding together, searching for his brothers until they’re safe at home again. Not walking away from one of the most important things their first Sensei gave them.

April holds his cold gazes, and then looks away from them without a glance back. It makes Leo’s relationship with Karai tenser; his anger towards April bleeding into his and Karai’s conversations. She’s busy still, taking back the city and the power that the Foot lost. It’s not something Leo approves of in the least, and he makes it clear.

Karai brushes him off. Reminds him this is _her_ clan, not his.

“The Foot might not have been my birth clan, but it’s the one that I’ll make my own regardless. I know you don’t like it, Leo, but this was always what I was going to do. I thought you knew that.”

“No,” Leo replies, and he knows his tone is lacking politeness. “I didn’t. And I thought you knew better than to follow in the Shredder’s footsteps.”

That remark gets him a sharp warning look from Karai. An even more so one from Shinigami, who is eyeing him from the sidelines of the throne room. The atmosphere cools to arctic levels, and Leo knows he’s overstepped his boundaries.

He doesn’t take it back. Because he’d thought Karai was better than this.

“…master Karai,” A tentative Foot ninja speaks up, from the doorway of the throne room. “I apologize for the interruption, but the Don is here to negotiate.”

Karai’s gold eyes leave Leo, and she turns her attention away from the slight. “Tell him to enter, if he can even fit in the elevator.” She doesn’t glance at Leo as she turns away, walking up the steps of her throne. “And see my brother out. Vizioso isn’t fond of mutants.”

Leo gives a narrow look after Karai, but leaves without responding. Better to leave before someone says something really over the line.

His phone remains full of unanswered texts, and the rooms in his home too empty. The argument with Karai makes those things all the harder to bear.

 

 

 

Two weeks and a half.

Raph joins Leo on and off for his searches. Leo’s started picking neighborhoods at random across the city; taking the Party Wagon to travel beyond their usual running grounds. He chooses places he thinks his brothers would want to be close to, whether for resources or the sights. None of the searches yield any results.

Sometimes they talk during the searches, but their conversations don’t stray from the modes they’ve started to fall into. Terse and clipped, or surly and touchy. Sometimes, they just fight. Pointless spats that don’t really have meaning or even connection to what they’re doing. About dinner and whose turn it is to cook, or the chores they can’t divide evenly between themselves, or any number of things that aren’t worth the energy it takes to fight about them.

Sometime they don’t speak at all during the searches. Tense silence without break or interruption. No one else is around to break the silence with an offhand joke or a long-winded explanation. It makes the empty spaces around them that much more obvious.

Leatherhead refuses to budge with his information, and Slash keeps telling them he can’t break the trust he has with the other mutant. At this point, it’s a stalemate none of them can break without doing real damage to their relationships.

Raph doesn’t yell at Slash anymore, his anger quieter and simmering rather than boiling and explosive. Leo’s own feelings and frustrations have done the same; without immediate or new antagonizing, he’s managed to form a steady baseline.

But that doesn’t mean the baseline is pleasant; hurt, anger, and confusion persisting in Leo’s mind even in quieter moments. It’s been days, and still no sign of their brothers. He doesn’t understand any more now than he did at the beginning why they’re doing this, or what’s causing them to hold out for so long.

Leo had thought his brothers would come home within a night or two. The end of the week comes, and they get no closer to finding out where their brothers have gone.

He’s less sure what to make of that than he’s ever been.

 

 

 

They see the first action they’ve seen in weeks, a few days into the third week of their brothers’ disappearance.

It’s just the Purple Dragons, causing trouble now that the Kraang and the Foot clan have moved elsewhere. Leo reached something of an agreement with Karai about the Foot’s criminal activities; if it was kept out of his territory, he’d turn a blind eye and stop fighting about it. He’s not sure if she did that because he asked her to, or if she did it simply to avoid dealing with his dislike of it.

The fight should be easy. It’s the A-team, with the addition of Casey, against four ordinary men. They’ve fought entire armies at this point; four humans shouldn’t be any trouble at all.

But, no one’s there to cover Leo’s left flank. Casey is unpredictable with where he places himself in a fight, and Raph is always on Leo’s striking right. There’s no one covering their shells or his left flank.

Leo gets a deep cut in his left shoulder, because he got careless and forgot Mikey is gone.

It’s not a bad injury. He’s had wounds ten times worse, and this one won’t take more than a few days to heal. It still hurts, though.

They beat up the Dragons, call it a night, and Leo has to do first aid on himself for the first time… a fair while.

Donnie’s not here to patch them up, so Leo has to clean and bandage the gash with one hand. It’s not as neat as it could be, but he gets the wide band-aid in place, and that’s all he really needs to do.

It’s a bit unsettling afterwards, realizing how many holes there were in their fight patterns. The whole of their group fighting style depends on having at least three components- they’re short half their team, which tripped Leo up, and Casey has never been an easy person to mesh with in a fight. At least not for Leo; Raph always did it with ease, and still does.

Leo faltered, because he’s too used to having someone there to cover for him.

The empty spots in their team are emptier than ever, coming down from the high of battle and finding the victory lacking. No one is cheering particularly loud, and what few injuries they received have to be tended to individually.

Leo misses his brothers with a striking bolt of emotion, and it’s followed quickly by the feeling of betrayal at their disappearance.

He’s angry with them. He’s missing them. He just wants them to at least tell him _why_ they left.

Leo goes home with his remaining brother, and there are not nearly enough footsteps to echo their way there.

 

 

 

The Shredder looms in front of him, and Leo can’t even scream before the blades come down on him.

He feels his plastron split, long scores all the way down. The pain blinds him, and it sends his senses white with agony.

Another slash- to his knee cap- and a scream finally does work its way out of his throat.

He goes down, landing on his side and still screaming. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts-

Leo’s eyes roll wildly, pain blotting any thought from his mind except for wanting it to _stop._ He feels the icy slush of the ground mixing with the burning hot blood running out of him; it sticks to his scales and gives the effect of magma meeting the arctic waters across his body.

No one is here, no one is here and he’s alone. He’s alone and he barely has the strength to drag himself across the cold ground. Dirt and snow turn to mud under his arms as he crawls, gasping and retching as agony throbs through him.

A shadow falls across his vision, and Leo looks upwards with fear.

Splinter’s figure stands nearby, snow falling delicately on his robe.

 _“-Sensei,”_ Leo gasps. He’s saved. He’s _saved._ He raises a hand, reaching desperately for his father to take it, pick him off the construction site’s cold ground and stop the steady bleeding from his body.

Splinter doesn’t move, just staring down at him.

 _“Sensei-”_ Leo’s voice cracks as he tries to raise his hand higher. “ _Sensei, please.”_

Splinter remains motionless.

Leo’s vision fills, blurring. Hot tears slide down his cheeks. _“Father- I can’t- h-help me, it hurts, please father it- hurts-”_

Why won’t his father take his hand? Why won’t he help him?

Twin blades are stabbed through Splinter’s stomach, and Leo screams.

Splinter falls, and reveals the hulking figure of Shredder behind him.

_No, no no no-_

His father lays motionless on the cold ground, red growing in a thick puddle all around him. His wide dead eyes stare up at the ashy clouds above them both, filled with smoke and snow. Leo can’t breathe, lungs hitching and failing to fill as he pulls himself to his father’s body.

His fingers grip the very edge of Splinter’s sleeve, the damp fabric offering no comfort as Leo sobs. Broken and bleeding on the ground, nearly as dead as Splinter is.

His father is dead. He’s dead and no one is coming to save him. No one was ever coming to save him. Leo failed.

He failed and he’s alone.

A rough grip turns him over, and Leo meets the eyes of the monster that’s come to kill him a second time.

He struggles, weakly clawing at the huge hand that’s holding him in place. He’s screaming. He’s screaming loud enough it hurts. For someone, anyone, to save him, please, please can’t someone _save him-_

The Shredder raises his blades, and tears open Leo’s throat.

Leo wakes, and claws at his throat as he tries to breathe.

Its pitch black in his room, and he throws off the covers as he forces himself upright. His scars and lungs burn; his nerves on fire as he re-experiences the sensations of his injuries.

Leo retches, coughing and struggling to fill his lungs. It’s painful, his vocal cords aching as he pants fast and shallow. He’s been screaming, he can already tell.

The Shredder and his father flash across his vision, and he nearly falls on the floor as he stumbles out of bed.

He knows where his weapons are, even in the dark, and he gets his hands on his swords fast as he can. Alone in his room, Leo clings to the best defense he has. His heart is beating loud in his ears, and the feeling of being cut into pieces plays over his body again and again.

He feels like he’s dying.

He feels like he’s still there, in that construction site.

He feels like he’s going to throw up.

Leo curls around his swords, huddled on the floor of his room, and sobs.

No one comes to see why. Anyone who might’ve heard is asleep, or has been gone for nearly four weeks.

He’s alone.

 

 

 

 _Come home,_ he texts Mikey on the second day of the fourth week. _I don’t know why you left. What did we do? Why won’t you answer me?_

_Please, come back home. If you’d just stop being so stubborn, we could talk about it._

_What did you tell Leatherhead? Why is he so angry with us?_

_Mikey, what did we do?_

_Answer me._

_Please answer me._

_Mikey._

_This isn’t funny._

_If this is some stupid, drawn out joke, I’m not laughing._

_Come home._

_You’re making Raph worry, you’re making our friends worry._

_You’re making Me worry._

_Can’t you at least call us?_

_Mikey_

_Mikey come on_

_Please._

_Just come home already._

 

 

 

April stops taking their calls completely. Leo doesn’t see her at all in the Foot clan headquarters, and Karai will only tell him she doesn’t want to see him at the moment.

He can only muster the dull feeling of confusion that night. It’s been so long since his brothers disappeared, the way April is breaking herself off from their group is only painful in the faintest way.

He doesn’t understand why she’s doing this. He doesn’t understand why Leatherhead won’t even look at him anymore. He doesn’t understand his brothers left and won’t talk to him.

He doesn’t understand any of it, and it makes a hollow pit inside his stomach.

 

 

 

 _You’re making us all worry,_ he texts Donnie, almost five weeks into their disappearance. _You ran away and left almost nothing to explain Why._

_Answer me, Donnie._

_At least give me a reason._

_You should be here. Both of you. Not_

_Not running around like this. Ignoring me, Raph, everyone._

_This isn’t like you._

_You’re acting like a kid. You know better than to make us worry like this._

_Donnie_

_Please answer me._

_At least tell me WHY you won’t answer!_

_What did we even do to you guys?_

_Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves. We’re all worried about you two._

_Donnie_

_Donnie please_

_At least answer me._

_Let me know you’re okay._

Leo rips himself out of another nightmare, screaming as he does.

This time, he’d had to watch all his brothers and friends die before he watched Splinter be killed. And then he’d died, too.

The image of all of them laid out, snowflakes and ash falling on their torn up corpses, forces Leo to get out of bed.

It’s the middle of the day, barely past noon, but he can’t even imagine going back to sleep.

He goes to the dojo instead, the one place he still can find a semblance of calm. Or, where he’d used to be able to.

Now, the katas he runs through are sloppy. His steps falter and skip. He can’t find his internal metronome, and the sickening anger inside Leo is only fed by that.

It’s just him and his swords, nothing else in the world. But this time it doesn’t work. The solution to his nightmares and fears has always been routine, his steady and dependable routine even with all the chaos in his life.

But he doesn’t _have_ his routine anymore.

His father is dead. His father has been dead for months and is never there to greet him in the evenings, up just as early and ready to move through tai-chi with Leo. His altar is the only way Leo can see his face anymore, and it sends lightning hot flashes of grief through him every time he looks at it.

His brothers are gone. Donnie and Mikey aren’t there to move in and out of Leo’s space, following their own haphazard routines as the evening begins. They’ve been gone for five weeks and it’s left a gaping hole in Leo’s life, nearly larger than the one their father did.

Raph sleeps late, every night now. They talk tersely or they don’t talk at all, they fight about everything, neither of them can find any common ground anymore. They used to have a balance between them, the A-team, the best fighters in their family. They can barely get through an evening without one of them storming out or causing a fight.

April won’t talk to them, Leatherhead won’t talk to them, Casey and Karai and Slash are no help.

Everything is falling apart.

All. Because. His brothers left.

Leo doesn’t know how long he’s been sparring with the air, but his knee screams at him as he moves without care.

He’s furious. He’s broken through the numbness and he’s _furious._

How dare they leave. After everything they’ve done and lost and fought to regain- they just _leave him?_

This is their home, this is their family- Leo is their leader, their Sensei, their _brother-_ and they still just _left?_

They didn’t even say goodbye. Donnie and Mikey just picked up and left him and Raph. They abandoned their family and didn’t look back. They turned Leatherhead on them, have probably turned April on them- who will they take next? Casey? Karai?

Leo nearly killed himself for them, over and over. He spent his whole life trying to be the leader of their family, struggling to make the hard decisions and make the _right_ hard decisions- he put hours and hours of time in, training himself until he was exhausted. He studied battle tactics and acted responsibly whenever no one else would. He was the best older brother and leader he could be and they still just _left._

Everything he did for them, everything they did _together_ \- his brothers threw it all away and _abandoned him._

He’s moving fast and jaggedly; all of his movements spurred on by anger and hurt. Leo’s sides burn as he heaves in breaths, pushing his body to keep going even as his arms and legs try to give out.

Leo catches a family photo out of the corner of his eyes, hung on the wall of the dojo.

He yells wordlessly, and slashes at it.

The frame and glass splinter, and his sword slices the photo in half. It falls to the floor as it’s destroyed.

Leo stops, staring at the destroyed piece of memorabilia.

The picture is of him and his family. Leo and his siblings lined up in front of their father, young and proud of themselves.

He’s sliced the two sets of brothers in half; Leo and Raph on one half, and Donnie and Mikey on the other. The beaming smiles from their younger selves stare up at him accusingly.

Broken glass and wood litter the floor around the halved picture, and Leo stares back at the snapshot of their shared pasts.

Why did they leave?

What did he do wrong?

His eyes sting, and Leo sinks to his knees.

He feels hollow as he kneels; the center of his chest empty and painful. His katana make the glass shards clink as he lays the blades on them, eyes locked on what he’s gone and destroyed.

Their father, who had been directly center of the picture, is sliced in half. One side of Splinter with each set of siblings.

It’s ruined the smile his father had been wearing that day, the split picture.

Leo’s grip on his swords tightens, and he bites his lip. He feels his shoulders shake, and it’s not from physical exhaustion.

Leo lowers his head, vision blurring completely, and feels utterly alone.

 

 

 

Leo sleeps whenever he can. Night, day, in between- he’s lost his routine completely, and with it his internal balance. Nightmares get him if he sleeps too deeply, and there’s only so many times he can take watching his family die.

The fury dies slowly, turning into a painful smoulder in his chest; dead center of the emptiness. He’s angry with his brothers, with his friends- but more so, Leo just wants things to go back to normal.

Things were good. They were moving out of grieving, they were moving on. They’d started their training sessions with him as Sensei, run a few mock missions with total success. He was watching his family rebuild themselves around the gaping wound Splinter’s death left them all. They were _fine._

Why did his brothers leave?

He’s been asking himself that, texting the question over and over, leaving voicemails anywhere from ten seconds to five minutes long asking just that- for six weeks, over _six weeks,_ and he still doesn’t have an answer.

Leo doesn’t understand what he or Raph did to make their brothers so mad. He’s racking his brain even now for a recent fight or disagreement severe enough to cause this- and he’s getting nothing. As far as he can tell, everything between the A-team and the B-team was the same as it always was. Which was _fine,_ they were all perfectly fine.

Did he miss something? Had something happen without him knowing? If so, why didn’t his brothers _talk to him_ _about it?_

Why did they leave? Why won’t they answer him?

At this point, Leo just wants to understand.

He just wants his family to come home.

 

 

 

Leo comes out of a deep meditative state one night, after attempting to reach a state of clarity he can’t seem to achieve anymore, to find Casey shouting at Raph. And April, who is dressed in her Foot uniform still and trying to pull Casey away from where Raph lays on the floor, holding the side of his face.

 _“Fuck you!”_ Casey yells, straining against April’s grip on him. “You- you’re my best friend and you think that’s _okay?_ Why the fuck- I thought you were- you were supposed to-”

 _“Casey!”_ April snaps, hauling him backwards. “You _promised me-”_

“You were supposed to prove me _wrong! You were supposed to own up to it and- and-”_

_“Casey!!”_

_“Fuck you!”_ Casey yells again, red in the face and looking angrier than Leo’s ever seen him. “Fuck you for that shit you pulled! Fuck you for being an abusive dickwad and thinking its _okay-”_

 _“CASEY!”_ April shouts, and she finally pulls Casey away from Raph. “You _promised me_ you’d let them handle this _themselves._ This is Donnie and Mikey’s fight- _not yours.”_

“He’s _my best friend,”_ Casey fires back, and his angry expression cracks, becoming something hurt. “He’s _my best friend,_ and I didn’t see _shit.”_

“It’s not our fight. It’s not our place.” April says those things, but it looks painful for her to do so. She pushes Casey further away from Raph, herding him out towards the exit. “Come on. Get some air.”

Casey shrugs of her hands. “Get off me, I can do it myself…”

“Guys?” Leo finally breaks in, drawing attention to himself. All eyes move to him; Casey and April’s defensive, Raph’s wide and shocked. “April? Casey? What’s-”

“And _you-”_ Casey cuts him off, a snarl twisting his expression. “ _Fuck you, too._ You’re just as- you pulled the _exact same shit-”_

April pushes him again. “Casey, _out.”_

Casey growls, and seems to physically rein himself in. “Fine, _fine._ Let go- _let go of me.”_

April lets go of him. Casey gives them one last dark, furious glare, and then storms out of the lair. April watches him go, and then turns back to Leo and Raph.

Leo is startled by how coldly angry her eyes are.

“…April, what’s going on?” He asks, feeling lost. “What did we do?”

Her expression turns bitterly sad, and she turns her back on them.

“Ask your brothers that.”

She walks out of the lair, following Casey’s steps, and is gone before Leo can manage another word.

 

 

 

Casey stops speaking to them. It has the effect Leo expects on Raph. Fury, aimless fury, and a deep set wound of betrayal.

Their calls and texts remain unanswered, even as Leo and Raph ask them pointedly what Casey’s comments meant.

Their social group loses another member, and then it’s just Leo and his brother, and Slash. Karai somewhat counts, but Leo sees her so rarely it doesn’t feel like it.

The lair feels like an echoing cavern; cold and hollow. There’s no hum of Donnie’s machines and constant work, no background racket as Mikey plays his radio, t-phone, and the television all at once-

Their rooms are empty of life, and their lack of presence is somehow oppressive.

The nightmares worsen, Leo sleeps even less, and he still can’t understand why any of this is happening.

 

 

 

Leo stares at the photo of his father, set on the altar.

He’s kneeling partially out of respect, partially out of exhaustion. The only way he can feel anything besides slow swallowing numbness anymore is to work himself to the bone. It gives him near black sleep, at least.

Leo stares at his father’s image, and wonders where he went wrong.    

He’d just been doing what he was supposed to do, what he was taught to do, and his brothers left anyways. He’d been trying his best, every single night, and his friends still all turned on him. Leo had tried to be everything his father had wanted, known, him to be, and everything has fallen apart anyways.

If he was always destined to be a leader, if he was always destined to take the mantle of Sensei, if this is what he’d been born to do…

…then why has he failed so miserably?

 

 

 

His phone rings, some infinite amount of time later.

Leo picks it up, off the table to the side of the dojo where he left it.

Raph’s caller ID is displayed, bringing faint disappointment to Leo’s heart, and he answers it.

“Raph? Hello?”

 _“-h-hey, Leo,”_ Raph gasps over the line. _“I think- I think I need s-some help here.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves hands* its done.
> 
> shout out to my friends on tumblr who listened to me agonize over this mass of text for two weeks, and a shout out to all the people who've read it and the previous chapters. your support for this fiction is more than greatly appreciated, and i cherish every single comment you leave me even if i can never respond to them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be second is to be just short of true victory. To be second is to be passed over, at least once. To be second is to receive something only after the first does. There is, truly, no defeat as bitter as being the second best, the second choice, the afterthought coming only once the favorite is chosen, for your entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like, fuck me, you know? for taking this damn long to update TD. glad to be back in the saddle though. honestly it was the fact that i strongly disagree with leo and raph's povs that kept me from getting on with this.
> 
> hope everyone who's been waiting since last fucking august is still with me, and finds this chapter (which is HUGE, fuck me, and has double the word count of the last chapter) worth that arduous wait for your friendly nonlocal author to get off their ass and actually write it.
> 
> oh and super special shout out to h0w-d0-y0u-d0-fell0w-kids on tumblr, who left me a big ol' tip on my kofi simply as a reminder to write for this fic. it really gave me the drive to get this guy done, since that 'tip' would have been worth a decently sized commission from me. pal, you're the superstar here for kicking my muse back into action. i hope you get your investment's worth with this chapter.

 Raph stares at the note, uncomprehending of the scribbled words across it.

_Me and Donnie are taking a vacation a break from home for a while. Just a few weeks-_

_-can’t tell you where we went, and we didn’t tell anyone –_

_-time from home and chill time for you two from us-_

_Sorry-_

_-we’ll come home-_

_­_ He stares at it, and he doesn’t understand anything about its contents.

Hot prickling annoyance rises up in his stomach, climbing his throat and making it highly tempting to crush the note in his hands. Because _really?_ Are his brothers _really_ pulling this kind of shit? Raph has little patience for any kind of dumbass games or stunts his siblings play at, but this? Running away like they’re little _kids?_

Raph’s jaw clenches. It’s barely evening and he already feels his patience running out.

He barely resists squashing the note in his fist, storming back out of Mikey’s room to find his brother and shove the paper into Leo’s hands.

It’d figure that just as things were settling down, one of his little brothers would do something to kick the hornet’s nest. He’s hedging his bet that its Mikey’s hand driving this latest scheme- inspired by who knows what, and Raph could give less than half a shit. Probably something like someone eating the last slice of cold pizza, or not getting to pick the night’s movie, or maybe some whimsical notion he got stuck in his head that it’d be _fun_ and _funny_ to drag Donnie off in a game of runaways and leave nothing but a messily written note and no defined date of returned and _no freaking forwarding address of where they are-_

Raph crushes the paper in his hands before he gets it to Leo. He feels it’s justified, given the circumstances.

 

 

 

 _What do you mean they’re ‘gone’?_ Casey asks when Raph asks _him_ if he’s seen his siblings.

 _I mean they’re GONE gone,_ Raph texts back, glaring at the screen of his t-phone. _Both their rooms are empty the lab is empty they took the damn shellraiser- they’re GONE Casey. Did either one of them let slip plans for this?_

_Uh no? They haven’t texted me in a while actually  
You sure they really ran away?_

_What else would you call this?_

_Spring cleaning?_

Raph contemplates briefly is he has any patience left for his friend. He finds just enough to not snap at Casey for being stupid about this.

_This is serious Casey  
You know how risky our lives are. Disappearing and leaving no fucking instructions of how to find you is asking to end up in a gutter or on a dissection table_

_Dude teenagers do this stuff all the time. My little sister threatens to run away like twice a month at least and she’s only 11_

_Don doesn’t do this kinda shit, it’s got Mike’s prints all over it_

_So Mikey pulled Donnie into an adventure, big deal. They’re probably fine_

_They better fucking be, or else_

_Else what?_

_Or. Else._

_Lol_

Raph closes his phone screen and grips the plastic shell tightly. Leo’s up and pacing as he calls people, asking around still if they’ve seen even a hint of Donnie and Mikey, or heard where they might’ve gone. The Mutanimals’ was a bust, April knows nothing- oddly enough- and Casey, late as he was to responding, knows about as much as April. They even called Karai, and as much of a longshot it is that Raph’s brothers are hiding with their sister, they’d been partially hopeful. Nothing on all counts.

Raph rubs his face, breathing out harshly. Wherever his brothers ran off to, they either did a good job of getting accomplices to swear silence or just straight up didn’t tell anyone. Raph is finding both those possibilities deeply frustrating.

Maybe he should’ve expected something like this; Leo’s been a serious hardass ever since he told them the final wishes of Splinter. Sensei this, Sensei that; it’s all the same from him lately and sometimes it grates on Raph. _Really_ grates. Leo was already the leader and eldest, they all _know_ already he’s the one in charge- he doesn’t need to lord it over them. It figures Mikey, and possibly Donnie, would finally get sick of that and escape for a while.

They could’ve taken him with them, couple of unsympathetic assholes they are.

Raph is distracted from his annoyed thoughts by his phone, which reads “ _Let me know if you hear anything”_ from Casey.

 _Sure, after I’m done givin them an earful for this bullshit,_ Raph texts back. He gets a thumbs-up emoji in response.

Eventually, it becomes clear that efforts to re-establish contact are useless. Wherever Donnie and Mikey went, they’re refusing to pick up their phones. All they’re doing is cluttering up their call history with unanswered messages.

Raph doesn’t feel like continuing to chase after them, even just by texting and calling. It’s just making him even angrier, and he’s already having a hard time keeping his cool. If either of his brothers knows what’s good for them, they’ll show up sometime soon and he can give them a piece of his mind.

It’s hard to corral his temper and restlessness, but Raph manages to reign in his emotions to a dull annoyance. Enough that he can sit on the couch and only feel a bit like finding someone to take things out on.

He ends up reading a little, just to pass the time. There was a comic volume left on the couch where he sat down, and it’s one that he hasn’t re-read into oblivion yet. It’s as good as any time killer, waiting to the point when Leo also sits down on the couch; with a novel instead of a comic to read.

Raph’s attention doesn’t really take in the panels of the comic, mostly just skimming over the text bubbles and vaguely following the story. Though his mood has shifted from actively pissed off, his temper remains. Like a hot coal half cooled, but still burning on its underside.

After a bit, he glances at Leo on a whim, and sees a weirdly smug smile in place.

“What’s the smile for?” Raph asks sullenly, not really interested, but bored and twitchy enough to care.

“I’m going to ground Donnie and Mikey for a whole week,” Leo says, tone equally smug as his expression, “whenever they get back, because I can and they deserve it.” He looks pleased as peach with himself for arriving at that conclusion.

Raph imagines for a moment what that would look like, their brothers kneeling in the dojo and receiving their deserved punishment from Leo. He smirks. “Sounds about right. Forgot you could do that now.”

“It’s a perk of being Sensei,” Leo replies, puffing up a little.

Raph rolls his eyes. “Don’t go gettin’ a big head over it, though. And don’t try that shit on me.”

“I won’t if you don’t force me to.”

Raph’s smirk slips, humor tapering off. Leo’s tone isn’t joking, not even close. Raph narrows his eyes, his negative mood returning.

Part of him wants to snap at Leo, remind him that whatever Sensei said, he’s not the total boss of Raph. Just a little, on condition. Like fuck is he letting his _brother_ ground him, new title or no.

Raph, however, decides to show some restraint and not bite Leo’s head off.

“Sure,” Raph says instead, going back to his comic and proceeding to dismiss Leo, “whatever you say, Sensei.”

He senses that Leo nearly gets on his case for the sarcastic reply, but like Raph, chooses to not get into a confrontation right this moment. Fine by Raph; he already went so far as to let Leo keep his idealistic authority over him. His brother can do the courtesy of keeping his control freak urges to himself.

They settle back into silence, albeit a little less chummy than before.

Raph notes, as the hours tick on and they move onto new activities, it’s a lot quieter with just the two of them.

 

 

 

Raph goes to bed late, putting off sleep past sunrise and letting Chompy curl up on his pillow next to his head. His tiny alien pet falls sound asleep, while Raph remains awake long after Chompy’s final sleepy yawn.

Sleeping is hard, some nights. Sometimes it’s easy, and sometimes he has to just let the insomnia take its course. With the disruption of his siblings running off into the vastness of New York, it’s set Raph back at least a few hours from sleeping.

He won’t ever admit it aloud, but not having them all together makes it worse. The knowledge that only Leo is in his room disquiets Raph’s mind, and he knows it’s going to affect his sleep. If he’s lucky, it won’t be enough to cause nightmares.

Sometimes he’s that lucky. He deserves to be today, given the worry and annoyance his brothers caused him.

Finally, and only because his eyes are starting to really burn, Raph reaches for his lamp and shuts it off.

In the dark, he closes his eyes.

And opens them under a dark grey sky, wind whipping his face and noise all around him. The growing storm above roils angrily, like the fury inside him, always burning, always present, no matter how often he expels it-

There’s someone holding him up, April’s strong little body taking the worst of his weight, and- no, something- something terrible happens, right after this, he has to move, has to _stop it-_

He doesn’t make it. None of them ever make it.

Lightning flashes, white and blinding, and in a blur of loss and grief and _rage_ , Raph screams.

He opens his eyes, hearing his alarm go off and Chompy whimpering close to his face. Raph holds still for a moment, paralyzed as usual by the same dream that’s followed him the past months.

Then he shakes himself; reaching out and turning off his alarm. The dream was no worse than any of the prior ones. If anything, that dream was more sensation, and less horrifying imagery of his father being murdered in front of him.

He can just ignore it. It’s just a dream, and no one else has been a wuss about their nightmares, if they even get them.

Raph can handle this fine.

Chompy nuzzles his face, and Raph turns his attention to his pet. Slowly, he finds the sense of calm he needs to sleep again, and drifts off.

His next alarm goes off, and Raph snarls at it as he fumbles to shut his phone up.

Eventually, even though he feels only vaguely rested, he forces himself to sit up and get out of bed. _Man the hell up,_ he tells himself. Bad dreams aren’t an excuse to lie around feeling sorry for himself.

Raph half expects at least one of their brothers to have wandered home during the day. God knows he gets sick of them both sometimes, and however often they pair up for everything, he’s seen them get tired of each other’s company fairly quickly. Opposites don’t always attract; they usually act like their name says they will. Like opposites.

It’s perturbing that when he leaves his room, the air of the lair is still and quiet. Which doesn’t happen with the four of them starting their evening routines, ever. There’s no sign of anyone having come and gone, and as he checks his phone, Raph sees there’s still no response to any of the messages he sent yesterday.

Raph walks past the empty rooms of his brothers- their doors still wide open from before- and goes to find Leo and breakfast. For the first time in a while, there’s no scent of hot food being prepared in the kitchen. It’s as weird as the empty spaces Raph is becoming aware of.

He still partially hopes they’ll be in the kitchen, sat down around the table and getting their reprimand from Leo, but as Raph enters he finds only Leo and his coffee.

Raph grumbles irritably. Because of course they weren’t going to makes things that easy.

 

 

 

If there’s one thing, one thing out of all the insanity they have to deal with near constantly, that Raph knows for _sure_ will remain a staple in his life, it’s his punching dummy.

Even after years of crazy misadventures and world domination plots and a hundred little tragedies in between, Raph still has the bulky punching dummy to come back to. The impact of his fists against it is a steady drum in his bones, and it eases some of the building tension in him.

If the objects of his anger tonight aren’t around- _still-_ then at least he has a substitute stand in. And he wants all the pent up emotion _out_ , transferred into reality and then dispelled. He hates feeling clogged up inside like this, too many thoughts stuffed in together and nowhere for them to go.

So, since his brothers have decided to keep playing runaways, and Raph’s real source of frustrations remain unsolved, his punching dummy gets its fair share of punishment and more.

It’s a little easier to think, after a couple hours of that. As long as he exerts himself enough, things stay quiet in his head and his temper is less difficult to handle.

But even so, he’s still got a knot of worry settling into his chest. It’s wrapped in prickly anger, but at its center he’s feeling concerned about his siblings. It’s stressing him out to not know where they are, when they’ll be back, or if they’re somewhere safe. Logically he knows Mikey is alright at keeping himself in one piece, and Donnie is smarter than any of them, but logic hasn’t ever been Raph’s strongest point.

If they would just _answer his texts,_ Raph wouldn’t be feeling so restless and fidgety. If they’d just give him and Leo a location, an update, _something,_ then he’d be able to stop curling and uncurling his fists.

He’s a loner, kind of an introvert, but not having all of his siblings in one place isn’t something he’s used to. Raph likes his space and his privacy, but also likes knowing where everyone is at. He wants his brothers around, just sometimes at a distance. If he knows for _certain_ everyone is accounted for at home or will eventually return unharmed, then he can keep a handle on the uncomfortable tightness that squeezes his chest some nights.

It’s stupid. They’re practically adults. They’re _ninjas._ They can all take care of themselves. He shouldn’t feel so wrong-footed by this.

It’s been two full days since he’s seen hide or tail of his siblings.

Raph gets about twenty minutes of break, before he’s right back at the punching dummy. Trying yet again to force the constricting discomfort around his chest to release its grip.

His mood isn’t helped by Leo walking around, acting calm as anything about what’s going on. It makes Raph feel even more self-conscious of the discomfort he’s carrying. Their brothers are missing, but Leo is confident everything will turn out fine and their brothers will come home without issue.

It’s just on the edge of aggravating, having Leo be so calm still, while Raph feels like he’s got a buzz in his teeth.

He hits the punching dummy another hundred times, and fifty more for good measure, before taking another short breather. Something resembling his baseline has been re-established for the exertion, but Raph still can’t quite find any true sense of calm.

How many times has an interruption to their lives been benign? How many times has something out of the ordinary been _safe?_ Sometimes those misadventures are fun, but too many of them end up being life-threatening. This is an abrupt and drastic change to the normalcy of their home, and Raph _wants_ to just let it go, believe that everything will turn out okay on its own, but neither of his younger siblings is answering their phones and it’s setting him up to explode.

Two days. Not even a hint of how his brothers are doing. What are the chances of something having gone wrong?

Too high. Way too high. Their luck, the way their personalities are wired, how they all just _somehow_ always manage to end up in the center of some fresh storm of bullshit- Donnie could probably calculate all those things into a clean and precise number, but Raph just has his gut feeling of it all leading to one conclusion: eventual catastrophe.

Probably not the world ending type this time, not even Mikey is _that_ much of a screw up. Localized catastrophe, then. And how would that catastrophe happen, how would it end up involving his brothers?

 _The Shredder is dead_ , he reminds himself. Putting his forehead against the punching dummy and breathing in deeply, Raph firmly reminds himself the Shredder is _dead._ And the last time they saw anything of the wackos he kept on staff, they were slinking away from the heat of the burning building to lick their wounds, or maybe bleed out from them. Raph didn’t go looking, didn’t feel like hunting down anyone else that night; he’d just wanted to get everyone out of there, back into the sewers and the lair. Put the decapitated head on the lawn far, far behind them.

The thought lingers, though. Calling up thoughts that attach themselves willingly to the Shredder’s memory in his mind. How many times it was one of them, or all of them- in traps and cages, forced into a corner and targets as easy as fish in a barrel?

A scattered collection of memories flash through Raph’s mind, of the Foot stronghold before its fall and rebirth under Karai- of the things that went on in the cells to prisoners, on the cold, steel lab tables, restraints and locks strong enough to contain even a mutant- memories of eyes that burned and watched with vicious satisfaction as Raph choked and struggled, thrashing as his nerves and mind were hijacked from his control-

_-up on a roof, storm raging above, everything moving too quick, too deadly, and he-_

Raph lifts his head away and then smacks his forehead against the punching dummy, forcing that all back down and trying to ignore the electric prickle over his scales. Sharp and piercing, disrupting the brief calm he’d managed to find.

The dummy won’t be enough tonight. Listening to Leo’s advice and staying put, waiting them out _,_ acting like none of this bothers them- it’s not going to work for Raph.

He needs to- move. Search. Try a different type of exercise and see if it’ll fix the way his nerves won’t settle.

He could check in with Casey. Company besides Leo would be nice.

But, that’d be after Raph gets himself back under control. Showing up on the windowsill of his friend’s room, unnerved by ghosts of the recent past clinging to him… it’d just be embarrassing.

Raph rehydrates as he moves on from his workout, makes sure Chompy has his own water bowl filled in their bedroom, and leaves without telling Leo. His brother is in meditation anyway- as long as Raph leaves his door shut and the radio on, Leo probably won’t be able to tell he’s been gone and back at all.

And unlike their dickbag brothers, Raph will actually answer his phone if Leo calls.

 

 

 

It gets a little easier to breathe, once he’s out on the rooftops and has an actual goal to his night. Raph isn’t entirely hopeful he’ll conveniently stumble upon wherever his brothers have gone, since he grudgingly admits that Donnie is smart enough to know how to cover his tracks, and Mikey always was best at hide and seek, even as they got older.

That doesn’t stop him from circling the buildings populating the area, or going below once or twice to see about a dry spot of tunnels. Realistically the chances of any of those places being Donnie and Mikey’s hideout are slim, given they’ve dragged most of their crap with them and have the Shellraiser to conceal, but it’s still worth the shot and leg work.

He doesn’t end up finding anything that sticks out to him, not within the immediate bounds of their patrol territory, and Raph moodily imagines that maybe Donnie finally fulfilled his childhood scheme to create a cloaking device- like something out of Leo’s old favorites of sci-fi, so their formerly gawky limbed sibling could finally start winning at hide and seek again.

Actually, Donnie is still kind of gawky in how his limbs all go together. Taller than any of them and a little weak at natural stealth without time for prior planning. Raph would hope that would be what gives his brothers’ location away, whenever they inevitably have to go out on a supply run again, but Donnie’s probably had ample time to plot this. Catching them in this scenario will be more difficult than that.

Raph gets bored eventually of searching without results and still not quite getting the thoughts in his head to go away. He’s nearby Casey’s place anyway by that point, and figures dropping in with news would be a good distraction. He thinks his friend texted a while ago, but doesn’t know what Casey actually said, since Raph had only glanced at the screen of his t-phone to see if it was his brothers or not.

It hadn’t been, obviously. Which sucks.

Raph blacks out a few of the streetlights nearest to Casey’s side of the building, and then scales the red brick of it. Double checking before he knocks, just in case he’s somehow gotten the window mistaken for another, Raph raps his knuckles on it while he clings to the building.

It takes at least eight firm knocks (maybe getting close to banging on the last three) before Casey responds. And by respond, Raph means that his friend lurches upright in his bed; hand reaching for the bat leaned against it and looking around with a startled expression. Casey notices Raph blocking the view out his windowpane almost immediately, and lowers the bat to mouth _the fuck?_ at him.

“Why’re you in bed so early?” Raph asks before Casey’s even got the window open all the way. His friend looks at him incredulously, shaggy black bangs hanging in his face.

“Raph, it’s-” Casey yawns, giving Raph an unfortunate whiff of his breath as he checks the digital clock on his desk. Casey rubs an eye, fuzzy and annoyed. “It’s almost _five,_ dude. I got school in a few hours.”

“Is it?” Raph asks. He didn’t think he’d been wandering _that_ long.

“Do you even know what day it is?”

“Uh…” Given that Raph’s existence adheres to pretty much no one’s rules or routine, the specific date of any one night doesn’t tend to stick in his head.

“It’s fuck o’clock in the morning, on Wednesday. Middle of the week, Raph. You know I gotta catch some actual sleep ‘round now.”

“Right,” Raph says, and doesn’t know how he forgot that. He’s usually aware of the times when his few friends will be available, but with Donnie and Mikey being gone and the way his days have been harder to sleep through than usual…

Casey is looking over his shoulder, squinting irritably at the darkened street outside his apartment. “Dude, did you break the streetlights?”

“Just a few.”

“ _Why?”_

“So no one could see me up here _, dumbass_ ,” Raph says, the words coming out a little harsher than they need to be. He feels bad about it a split second later, for coming close to snapping at his friend. That’s not what he’s here to do. This is supposed to help him feel less like he’s got too many things bouncing around in him.

“Aw, fuck, you do know the city’s gonna have to pay to get those fixed, right?” Casey asks, frowning.

“So?” Raph doesn’t get the deal here. The ‘city’ paying for things is a distant and removed concept from his life. People paying for anything is a foreign action to him. If he needs something, he just takes it. Everyone else can just get more of whatever he’s taken from the source, which he can’t.

“…I get the sense talking to you about low income neighborhoods is going to be pointless. Whatever, broken streetlights, dark sidewalk, I’ll deal. I’ll just keep a closer eye on shit for a while,” Casey says, shaking his head.  He yawns again. “Right, so my life is going to suck tomorrow. Might as well ask you if you got any news on Donnie and Mikey, since you didn’t answer my texts earlier…?”

“Budge over first,” Raph says, already putting a leg through the open window. It’s a trick to slip inside with his shell and shoulders’ width, but he does. “Right, since I’ve apparently been out longer than I thought, I’m gonna give you a chance to guess who I’m still searching for.”

“Seriously? Not even a phone call back yet?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah… ‘kay, that’s a little weird,” Casey says, going back to his bed to sit heavily on it. He scratches his stomach under his loose pajama shirt absently. “I don’t think Mikey’s ever been quiet on snapchat this long, and like… Donnie should’ve checked in with April at least, right?”

“Leo thinks they’ll come home on their own, probably today or something,” Raph says, even though the idea doesn’t sit right with him. He _wants_ to believe that, but…

“Uh huh… and you don’t think that?” Casey asks.

Well, Raph did say he’d been out searching. “Not really. But, I don’t know. Kind of?” He crosses his arms, leaning against the wall next to Casey’s window. “My brothers… they get into all kinds of shit, but they’re… you know. Like water and oil. You can mix them together all you want, but they’re gonna separate eventually.”

“And then come back home at that point?”

“Yeah.”

“Still… you really sure about that?” Casey questions. “I would’ve thought they’d call in to rub the vacation in our faces by now. You positive they’re not in trouble? Maybe they picked up on somethin’ going down and didn’t tell us.”

Raph grits his teeth, his stomach giving a twisting lurch as all the scenarios and memories he’d been repressing surge back to the forefront of his mind. A hundred of the worst outcomes, most of which they’ve all experienced once or twice at _least-_

“Why the fuck do you think I’m out here _looking_ for them? I _don’t_ know,” Raph snaps, digging his nails into his arm. The pain focuses him, gives him something to pay attention to instead of the way electricity is racing up from his chest and constricting his throat.

Casey raises a hand, a placating gesture at Raph’s sudden temper. “Right, I figured. Sorry, I’m just… kind of worried, you know?”

Raph reigns himself in, a little ashamed for his outburst. Out of his friend group, Casey isn’t someone he’s prone to being angry with. And right now, Casey is probably feeling at least a fraction of the concern Raph is. His friend gets it, even just somewhat.

“I know,” Raph mutters, and thinks he’s finally starting to feel the exertion he’s put his body through. It’s late enough it’s about to become early, too, and Casey was right earlier. He needs to sleep. They probably both do.

Raph says a quick goodbye, and leaves after promising to keep Casey updated if something changes. His friend pays the same favor of promising to share info.

In the distance, Raph realizes that the sky is starting to brighten a little, and knows that his time left outside is getting very, very short. But he still feels wound up, unsatisfied with how the (admittedly uncoordinated) search went. Not even speaking with his friend did much to mollify the way Raph’s mind keeps shoving unwanted images into his head- possibilities of any manner of pitfalls his brothers could have fallen into, the people out there who could take advantage of them in a moment of weakness, and Raph, Raph isn’t there, they’re not here with him, their team is divided and it’s like the old saying, together we stand, _divided we-_

Leaping over the gap between buildings, Raph realizes that he hears voices. A pause in his run towards home, he sees below a collection of Purple Dragons gang members.

They’re just sitting on the steps of a bar that’s closed until later in the day, bottles being passed between them all despite the law against public drinking. They’re not causing any trouble besides being a little overly loud at an early hour, but knowing these assholes…

Well, they’ve probably done _something_ in the past twenty-four hours worthy of a beat down.

And Raph is always prepared to dish out one of those.

A fight always does the trick, always resets the way Raph’s insides want to twist and knot against his will. And as everything goes downright tranquil in his head, the crack of nasal cartilage under his fist is the sweetest sound he’s heard all night.

 

 

 

Raph wonders, later, just what made his brothers finally snap with their decision.

Staring at the interior of Mikey’s disaster room, cluttered with pure garbage now and nothing else, Raph finally gets around to asking himself _why_ his brothers might have left. Until now, he’s mostly thought about what he’s going to do when they came back, and about where they could have gone. The why didn’t really matter to him, besides that it’s an inconvenience.

But his hands are sore and his head is clear, and Raph is letting himself take a short walk around the lair in the dim of a handful of lights, now that Leo’s gone to bed. It’s not pacing, because he doesn’t do that kind of shit. He’s just stretching his legs a little before sleeping, that’s all.

Did someone have a fight with him, or Leo, and neither of them notice? It’s a possibility. Mikey tends to let things go easy enough, and Donnie rarely has a real issue with anyone- but maybe this is the once in a blue moon time they decide to be stubborn about a confrontation. Clearly, it’d been one stupid and small enough Raph hadn’t counted it as such, if that’s what happened.

It just figures that could be what’s gone down. Raph gets being angry about things, he really does, but couldn’t his brothers have saved it for something actually meaningful? If it’d been Leo who fought with one of them, and Leo doesn’t remember either- then whatever fight their sibling perceive to be happening is plain idiotic to be mad over.

Raph scoffs to himself, and turns his shell on Mikey’s trashed room. He keeps his steps silent as he moves through the lair; he doesn’t want Leo to wake up and open his mouth about _anything_. Raph’s done with people for tonight, and that includes his remaining sibling. The fight with the Dragon goons might have been the relief of pent up energy Raph needed, but the overall disappointing search is keeping him in a poor mood.

He’d understand if it’s beef with Leo that’s driven their brothers off. Their leader and _Sensei-_ Raph isn’t totally on board with that, some nights, when his brother takes it just a _little_ too far with the authority thing- has been a real pain in the ass sometimes, since their father passed. Leo’s _always_ been uptight, taking his position as eldest and defacto leader completely serious even when he needed to just lighten up already. But this kind of stuff, the things Leo tries to pass off these days? This is a whole new kind of control their brother is trying to exercise.

Raph tried the leader thing, years ago, just once, and he does understand that it’s hard. In a fight he doesn’t have the ability to distance himself from things- balance the present with strategizing in his head. Raph used to really hate that. Actually, no, he still hates it. Hates that Leo can go toe to toe with the same enemies Raph does, and still have the space in his head to come up with a plan that coordinates all of the players on the field.

For Raph, everything narrows down to his goal, and he has just enough space leftover to account for the people fighting by his side. Otherwise speaking, he maybe has a bit of a one track mind in a fight.

Point being, just because he gets _why_ Leo is their leader, does not mean he enjoys putting up with every puff of hot air his brother lets out. Or is willing to just grin and say _“Hai, Sensei,”_ every time Leo tries to unnecessarily order Raph to fall back in line.

Yeah, no. Raph might not have everything it takes to be the leader, but he’s not some greenhorn in need of berating or reprimanding. He has seen, done, and dealt with exactly as much as Leo has. Raph falls short in some places, but they’re _equals_ , dammnit, and Leo doesn’t get to treat Raph like he’s lesser than he is.

So fuck Leo for rubbing those things in their faces, whether intentional or not- it feels like sometimes Leo’s forgotten how to be anything other than _the leader_. Oh, and fuck Donnie and Mikey for ditching him with all that, whether they all had a fight and Raph didn’t notice or not.

The anger is easy. Raph lets it flow through him, settling hot and thick over his other emotions. It eases the tension under his plastron, and lets him draw in a deep breath to let out an angry huff.

He finishes stalking around his too quiet home, and finally feels like he can stay horizontal when he lies down.

 

 

 

Day three comes, and as the night gets blacker, long past sunset, Raph finds that his unsuccessful search for his brothers bothers him now even more than it did yesterday.

He’s had yet another pathetic breakfast, barely enough skill and energy to pull one together one from depleted leftovers, and he’d been in a bad mood to start with that evening. Shallow sleep, restless tossing and turning, the usual. Waking up every time to see Chompy nearby helps, but it’s not been enough to put a stop to the inherent unease the four of them being separated brings.

Raph puts forward the idea (read as: snaps the words and doesn’t leave room for real answer) that they check in with the Mutanimals face to face, instead of just calling their landline. Best way to make _absolutely certain_ that their brothers aren’t hiding out there, or have left knowledge of their whereabouts with the Mutanimals’ motley crew, is to look the Mutanimals in the eye for themselves.

Mikey talks constantly, _constantly,_ and even more so with people indulgent enough to actually listen to him. Leatherhead is the poor soul who actually seems to enjoy Mikey’s prattling, so if Mikey’s gone and blabbed to anyone in their friend group about where he and Donnie have hidden themselves, it’s more than likely going to have been to Leatherhead.

“We can check in with April while we’re out,” Leo suggests, not arguing Raph’s point. “It’ll be easier with her also; to tell if she’s telling the truth or not if we’re face to face, instead of just texting.”

Raph almost rolls his eyes at his brother’s addition to the plan, the soft handed interrogation it sounds like. April might be Donnie’s specific best friend out of their team, but he’s never known her to hide secrets on anyone’s behalf between the four of them. He remembers her distinct annoyance any time their pairs started an argument, and how she’d just excuse herself until they were done.

It’s still worth the shot. Maybe April’s decided to act out of character too, like Donnie and Mikey.

“They haven’t been here,” Slash says after they arrive. Arms crossed and annoyed frown aimed at them, even Raph. And looking at the person who’d formerly been Raph’s pet tortoise, Raph can see in Slash’s craggy face that he’s telling the truth. Of the Mutanimals, Slash is the one Raph _knows_ wouldn’t ever lie to him, so.

Raph takes a deep breath, and walks away.

He kicks the skateboard ramp in the middle of the room hard enough it shifts across the floor. He ignores the yelp and scrambling of Mondo fucking Gecko, who sounds _just_ enough like Mikey right now it makes Raph turn a snarl on him briefly. The gecko mutant clings to the railing of the opposite side of the ramp, tiny sharp teeth bared in a grimace as he shies away from the display.

Leatherhead, raising himself from a curl beside the ramp, gives Raph a disapproving look for scaring Mondo. Raph could give less than a shit what the old crocodile thinks right now- Leatherhead is a dead end and so is this trip. The way the crocodile still looks pensive, had asked _them_ for information about Mikey’s (and Donnie’s, added as an afterthought) location is proof enough that Mikey hasn’t been here at all.

So Raph was wrong. And it’s pissing him off as much as Leatherhead and everyone else in the room is.

“The hell are you looking at?” Raph snaps at Leatherhead and Mondo, both still staring at him. Mondo hastily averts his gaze, and Leatherhead lets out a huff, turning his attention from Raph to Leo, who is talking with Slash still.

Promises and pleasantries are exchanged- Raph makes a vague threat or two towards their wayward and troublesome siblings- and Leo gives him an annoyed look for the way he’s acting. Tough shit, Raph’s pissed off his second attempt of tracking their siblings didn’t pan out, leaving them stuck still at square one.

Three days and not a single response to text or call. Raph isn’t used to this, isn’t used to just _not knowing_ where his family is. If they had a problem with what was happening at home, they should have stuck around and confronted someone about it, not _run away_ like this. Getting a fight over with is cleaner, faster- someone gets a little hurt, people yell a bit, and you’re done. Everyone can move the hell on with their lives.

Drawing it out like this, hiding themselves away and saying jack all of what their current location or wellbeing is- it’s risky, irresponsible, and flat out disrespectful to the people waiting on them to come home. Anything could happen to Mikey and Donnie out there. Their lives are constantly in danger, whether actively or just passively. Simply _existing_ still is an accomplishment for them at the end of a long night, when the whole world is stacked against them and one false move will end them blank eyed and bleeding out on dirty city pavement.

Raph barely hears the goodbyes of the Mutanimals, barely feels himself walking out of the hideout with Leo. Raph’s chest feels tight again and his hands in need of something solid to touch, to ground him. He just wants the next stop over with so he can go home, pick something physical to occupy himself with, and bury the twisting sickness he’s got spreading through him.

Taking the side trip Leo requested after the Mutanimals- it turns out that April’s room is dark and empty, and she doesn’t answer their texts. So even _this_ part of his night isn’t working out. Raph is halfway tempted to kick the windowpane full of cracks before they leave, just to give April a reminder to, oh, maybe _check in_ if she’s _also_ going to go off on her own?

Being a lone wolf is _his_ thing. Having his family break off from the main group like this is just plain stupid, since one is a kunoichi with a bare handful of years of training, and the other two are their _B-team._ Raph knows _he_ can make sure he makes it home in one piece, but the constriction of his chest and looping worst case scenarios make him doubt the other three can.

On the way back to the lair, he focuses on his anger, focuses on what he can do when they find their brothers. Raph drowns the other feelings in those ones- the relief of having his brothers in sight again, and April, too; the satisfaction of reminding them they, in fact, _can’t_ fuck off into the void without good reason; the deep and hot anger that they did this to _begin with-_

Easier to feel, less likely to get overwhelming. Anger he knows, anger he can handle. He’s handled it all his life; better the devil you know, right?

Raph’s going to give them a real piece of his mind whenever his brothers resurface. Teach them a lesson so they don’t _ever_ pull this sort of stunt again. Making him, and Leo, and their human friends and all the Mutanimals worry like this. Little _shits._ It’s got him feeling knots of tension inside of himself he _knows_ wouldn’t be there otherwise, and that’s infuriating on its own.

And so is the way, when Raph _maybe_ knocks into him just a little, Leo chooses right then to make a big deal about how he’s acting.

So _maybe_ Raph could have said something a little more polite than for his brother to watch it, mind his god damn personal space and all that, but Leo should have been able to tell Raph isn’t in the mood for that kind of thing. A _lecture_ , now of all times?

“I already have two brothers being troublemakers at the moment, I don’t need _another,_ ” is what Leo’s saying, using that condescending tone he does when someone doesn’t do what he wants them to. Raph ignores him, continuing to walk until his brother snaps, “That means _you_ , Raph.”

“Oh go fuck yourself, Leo,” Raph snaps right back, throwing a snarl of his lips over his shoulder for good measure. He is _not_ in the mood, not with his hands tingling and chest tight and- “I got enough problems; I don’t need you nit-pickin’ everything I do, too. I’m not your lackey.”

“No, you’re my _student,_ and I’m your _Sensei,”_ Leo says, and the words that follow start to get drowned out by the buzz in Raph’s head, which grows louder with each needling little word that just _screams_ how badly Leo’s pride has swelled.

So Raph stops, his insides shaking with emotions now, and turns to face his snob of a brother. Leo is looking down at him, _literally_ down at him, like _Raph_ is the one being the real problem here. Raph didn’t want a fight, didn’t want a confrontation with Leo specifically- he just wants to expel all the feelings building up in him, get it _out_ before he explodes with them.

“I told you not to try that shit with me,” Raph says low and slow, warning Leo that _now_ is the time to back the hell off. “Splinter might’ve said you got all that authority, but I’m not gonna roll over and let you make me fall in line. I’m not Donnie or Mikey.”

He’s not the B-team, he’s not like their siblings- he works _hard_ at training, keeps focus in sparring, he doesn’t wander off inside his head with plans for experiments or whatever garbage is playing on TV that night. Raph doesn’t need a keeper, and doesn’t need his older brother to try acting like someone three times his age, and a hundred times as strong and wise as any of them will ever be.

Leo still scoffs at him, even though he should know by now, know that even if he’s the leader and the special chosen one of them to inherit _everything-_ Raph isn’t just some sidekick to be ordered around, he’s kicked Leo’s ass in the dojo dozens of times, trained just as hard the same amount of nights Leo has, he _measures up_ , he’s not-

“Like either of them are doing that at the moment,” Leo says, words making it through the storm in Raph’s head. And, _god,_ he looks so damn self-satisfied, and Raph is _so tired_ of dealing with that kind of thing from his brother.

So he says, _“Maybe they’ve got the right idea,”_ because hell, their brothers probably do.

And Leo narrows his eyes, frowning down at Raph from the steps, and Raph keeps pushing, keeps prodding his brother because he’s _sick_ of having Leo look down on him in any manner. He’d said at the beginning that _okay,_ Leo’s their Sensei now, Raph thought he could handle that change, thought things wouldn’t actually change much at all-

But it’s like that was all Leo needed, to boost himself up from being not just the best of them, but to being all around _better_ than them.

They stalk towards each other, and Raph lets the anger well up in him, drown out everything else- he’s worried, so god damn worried about their brothers, but _this-_ it’s easy and familiar and Leo has it coming. They’ll fight a little, and the noise in Raph’s head will quiet, and then it’ll all reset to zero-

But then Leo says, “Are you _really_ so desperate to be the rebellious second son that you’d spit on what- what your own father _, our father,_ told us? The very  _last_  thing he ever told us?”

And everything _roars_ in Raph’s mind.

“Am I wrong?” _Shut up._ “You were always looking for a reason to push the boundary of his rules,” _Shut up shut up,_ “and now you’re looking to do the same with _mine._ ”

Raph feels his teeth grinding, his fists clenching, rage that’s black and choking rising up in him like a tidal wave-

“Our father made one, _one_ last request,” _And none of the rest of them ever even heard it, only Leo and no one else, shut UP-_ “and you can’t even respect that. No, you have to keep pushing and pushing and keep looking for another reason,” _This wasn’t what he wanted, he just wanted to get away from everyone and Leo just HAD TO DO THIS-_ “as always, to start yet _another_ fight with someone-”

Raph’s feels himself shaking, uncontrollable emotions and impulses racing through his veins, everything is too bright and overwhelming and he’s _going to-_

“-because you’re bored, or tired, or grumpy, or hell, just  _feel like it,”_ _No, he doesn’t mean to, not always- everyone’s just so frustrating, it gets so hard to-_  “because you’re the  _second_  son who’s just jealous he didn’t get to be the  _first_  son,” _No, shut up, that’s not- he’s not the second, he’s not less, he’s NOT-_   
“or the leader, or hear the last request our father ever made to us-”

Everything snaps burning and blinding, and Raph feels his fist connect with Leo’s face before he realizes he’s swung.

Everything gets simpler after that.

Raph swings again before Leo recovers, hits his brother in the exact same spot- if Leo feels like picking fights like this, Raph will make sure he doesn’t forget the _cost_ of doing so.

Raph’s knuckles are sore from his long workouts, but the feeling of them impacting against Leo’s scales and cartilage is worth it. Except Leo recovers by the third swing, and grabs Raph’s arm to block it- twisting the in motion punch and diverting the attack to get Raph in a lock. Raph uses the fact that Leo is distracted with holding him in place to start pounding at his brother’s plastron.

Raph snarls triumphantly as Leo wheezes, but doesn’t have time to enjoy that feeling before he _knows_ something’s gone wrong for him.

Leo twists again, shifts their weight and their legs, Raph’s arm still caught in his grip- and _kicks Raph’s knee,_ using as much force as he can muster with the angle.

Raph feels something twinge _wrong,_ and lets out a noise that’s pain and fury combined.

He hits Leo in a sloppy but successful attempt to loosen the lock, and keeps hitting. Raph doesn’t have any thought behind the motions, just pounding away and paying Leo back for all the fucking _poison_ he spewed at Raph.

He’s not jealous, he’s _not-_ their father loved them, loved Raph, and maybe he didn’t make the cut for leader but he still- he’s still just as good, he’s just as fast and strong and necessary to the team-

Leo kicks him again, same knee, same wrenched muscles- Raph’s vision gets tunneled and dark, and he doubles his efforts to leave _as much_ _damage_ _as possible-_

Leo doesn’t know anything, doesn’t know _shit_ about what it’s like to be almost up to par and still end up _not being enough-_ but Raph is A-team, he’s still better than their brothers, _he_ didn’t run off and leave everyone wondering where the hell he went, _he_ didn’t abandon his post- he’s not less, he’s better than them, he’s _just as good as Leo-_

Their father didn’t seem to think so, leaving it all to his favorite son, and nothing to anyone else.

Maybe, somehow, Splinter _knew_ that at the last moment, during the final battle of his life- that Raph would-

Leo clocks Raph hard enough his world spins, and he loses those thoughts in the next brutal dozen seconds he tries to pay Leo back for that. For all of it.

 

 

 

Raph spends most of the day staring at his ceiling.

He feels that it’s a diurnal hour, knows in his bones that the sun is up and he should be sleeping. The steady throb of his bruises and the slow numbing of his knee keep him awake, though.

He put ice on his leg, after he and Leo finally got tired of laying into one another. It’ll help the swelling, but Raph knows what a wrenched muscle feels like. Even if he’s learned to fight on despite accumulating any number of injuries, it’ll still be an absolute bitch and a half to move around for at least a few nights.

But it’s not the leg keeping him up, really. Or any of the relatively mild injuries Leo gave him. It’s the myriad of slowly circling thoughts, as sludgy and dark as the worst gunk found after rainstorms in the sewers.

So that’s what Leo really thinks of him, huh?

Somehow, Raph isn’t even surprised.

There’d been a point, when they were all younger, before they’d even been assigned official roles on the team- that Raph felt things changing. A shift in the tone of how his father treated each of them- or more specifically, how Splinter treated _Leo._

Somewhere, not long after they’d been gifted their first real weapons, a gap started to form between Raph and Leo. Between _all_ of them and Leo.

And Raph had worked so hard to close that gap, catch up to his brother every time Leo went on further ahead without him. They were the older two, they had to be a united front- but Leo just kept getting better, somehow, even though Raph trained twice as much as anyone, spent whole evenings dedicated _only_ to working out, making himself stronger, refining his skill and striving over and over to _finally_ put himself at level with Leo, make them _equals_ again in their father’s eyes-

And then Leo was made leader.

And the gap turned into a gulf.

And Raph kept falling short of bridging it, despite everything he tried.

Donnie and Mikey didn’t care they got left behind like that, neither of them ever had the ambition, the right stuff to be proper ninjas- lost up in their heads all the time, slacking off training to go do meaningless hobbies that wouldn’t do anything to improve their skills- but Raph _wanted_ the recognition, wanted to be praised for how hard he worked, how quickly he could take down his siblings in a spar- for just how damn hard he pushed himself towards each new obstacle, and eventually, _conquered them._

He still fell short of his goal, though. Never managed to keep a handle on his temper, never kept a clear head in a fight- always, _always_ lost control of himself at the wrong moment, and inevitably, failed to measure up to par.

Leo, though. Leo always managed to be that. Always managed to be the perfect student, night after night, exceeding where all the rest of them floundered- always managed to garner the most praise, the most attention.

Raph got plenty of attention. Just in the form of reprimands for his mistakes, instead of pride from his father.

Fucking Leo. Always showing Raph up, showing _all_ of them up, and still expecting them to be just as good as him. Even though, very clearly-

They just. Never were.

Raph feels Chompy climbing onto the pillow his head is on, and rolls over slowly to look at his pet. In the dark, he can only make out the shape of his brightly colored pet.

Chompy whines, and butts his head against Raph’s flat nose.

Raph… just doesn’t have energy for that right now.

He picks up the little space tortoise, and sets him on the floor. Chompy’s actual sleeping spot is under the desk, anyway. A cozy little spot of darkness all to himself.

Raph’s room is supposed to be that for him, too, but it just feels oppressive today.

None of his siblings get it; none of them _could_ get it. What it’s like to push himself so hard some days he went to bed aching right down to his core- what it’s like to get up the following evening, swallow painkillers and keep going- what it’s like to just keep running up against a wall, over and over, and continuing to do so long after his knuckles split their skin and bleed through his wrappings-

None of them get it what it’s like to be _good,_ but never, _ever_ the best.

The second son, the second best, the second choice. Almost as good, but only ever _almost._ Better than B-team, good enough to be A-team- but not the leader. Not the favorite.

A failure when it mattered, someone who fell just short of the highest expectations. The only ones he didn’t fall short of were the ones of him losing it at the last moment, faltering with his concentration and control. Snapping under the force of his own emotions, and screwing himself over in front of everyone.

Mikey and Donnie were lucky. They never had to deal with that sort of thing. Their father never expected them to do anything besides provide backup and support. They’d had it easy, all those years. Meanwhile Raph had struggled, and strained, and felt his fingers brush the tail end of real victory again and again.

And always let it slip out of his grip, and have to face the disappointment of his father for that.

Not that that matters anymore, really. Nothing about Leo’s success or their Sensei’s disappointed lectures matters anymore. Because Splinter is dead, and Raph failed to measure up at the last moment, like he always does.

It figures that the _one time_ their father picked Raph over Leo… it’d be when he’d… when Raph would…

Raph covers his eyes and rolls to face the wall; hiding his face and twisting, piercing pain inside from the darkness surrounding him. Through the drowning emotions in his mind, only one thought makes it through.

Maybe if it had been Leo on that roof, their father’s room wouldn’t be empty right now.

 

 

 

Raph struggles, later on, to haul himself out of bed.

On top of shallow and repeating nightmares- all ones he’s had before, the same damn scenes he always gets on replay- he aches worse than he had yesterday, and the icepack on his knee fell off at some point during his restless sleep. It twinges with every move he makes, and it’s nearly enough to convince him that staying in bed and just… _not dealing_ with anything is the better plan.

Except Chompy is chirping and whining, pacing Raph’s room and knocking into things to get attention. He needs to be fed, petted, and taken for a walk.

 _Get the fuck up,_ Raph tells himself, and pushes off the blankets with painful effort. _Quitting is for weaklings, you’ve dealt with worse- get up and man up._

Chompy nips his ankles as Raph drags himself out of bed. Raph shuffles his pet out of the way with his foot, lazily telling him, “I’m up, I’m up- quit _biting_ already, jeez. Impatient little shit.”

Raph focuses on Chompy, focuses on the responsibility he has to raise the tiny to-be space Godzilla. He gets his gear on, grabs the leash and harness he made to fit his pet, and arduously forces himself to walk out the door of his room.

For a few moments, he’s alright. The dreams are just dreams- they can’t hurt him, they’re just memories, he needs to just _get over it_ already- and at least Chompy loves him. Expecting nothing more than attention and love in return. And maybe food, too.

Raph goes to get the bag of dog food from the kitchen, and something to eat for himself, too- and comes face to face with Leo, who is, as per fucking usual, up and about before anyone else.

Never mind that there’s only Raph left to rise before, or that Raph overslept while caught in a cycle of nightmares.

Leo is nursing the bruises Raph left on him, holding himself gingerly and tense- and when he sees Raph, his lips curl ever so slightly. Disapproval and distaste showing clear in his eyes and expression.

Raph sneers right back, and snags food only for Chompy before leaving. He’s not hungry anymore, already feeling the rise of his temper takeover.

He takes his pet out of the lair, and decides to not even be in the same room as Leo for the rest of the night.

Pretty obviously, Leo doesn’t have a shred of regret for the stuff he said to Raph. And if _Leo_ isn’t going to bother apologizing for all the shitty things he hurled at Raph, then Raph won’t bother apologizing for the dark bruises he’s inflicted on his so called _Sensei._

Leo deserved it. When _any_ of Raph’s siblings tick him off enough for that kind of snap, they _deserve it._

He tries to keep his temper in check, but fuck, like any of them ever try to help him with that. Stomping on his toes until he decides to kick back, and then whinging and whining about how its _Raph_ ’ _s_ fault the fight happened, and going and getting him in trouble for it, excluding him and ignoring him and acting like _Raph’s_ _the one with a god damn problem-_

For the stuff Leo said, Raph should have hit him harder.

For leaving him here, for disrupting _everything_ about their lives- Raph’s going to hit his missing siblings just as hard as he did their leader. And then maybe worse, if they keep ignoring their texts, keep hiding somewhere in the city, keep being little _shits_ and causing more trouble than they’re worth.

The anger is good. It makes Raph’s chest shudder, bones buzz- but its normal sensations, _familiar_ ones. He knows how to handle the swell of fury in him, and much prefers it to the paralyzing sensations he gets there, sometimes.

Except Chompy is whining, pawing Raph’s foot and pacing tight little circles, and no, no- Raph isn’t mad at him, the anger isn’t supposed to ever be directed at his pet.

“Sorry, fuck- I’m sorry,” Raph says, kneeling down in a painful, slow motion. He picks up his one dependable companion, the only steady support he can depend on. Chompy nuzzles his hands, little spiky tail wagging despite the anxious whine he’s still making.

Raph sighs, curling around his pet in the tunnel they’re walking through. “I’m not mad at _you,_ I promise. Just my brothers. You didn’t do anything, Chompy, okay? We’re good, don’t worry.”

His pet makes the growling, chirruping sound he does whenever he’s feeling particularly pleased about something.

“…you just want me to carry you,” Raph scolds. Chompy blinks innocent little eyes at him, and Raph rolls his own.

“I’m spoiling you,” Raph tells Chompy, standing gently enough he only winces a little at his leg. It hurts, but he’s dealing. “You need to learn how to walk on your own, you know. Toughen up. No one’s going to respect you if you’re not strong enough to fight your own battles.”

The little space tortoise coos, perfectly content in the crook of Raph’s arm. Raph shakes his head at that.

“You’re just as lazy as my brothers,” Raph comments dryly, thinking again of Mikey and Donnie’s scheme to escape the lair and their responsibilities. The coil of anger about that, of them just disappearing and barely leaving an explanation for it- it rises bitter and sharp, but Raph quiets it, focusing on his pet and scratching under Chompy’s chin.

He carries his tortoise a few blocks worth of tunnels, limping along and pushing through the pain of that. He’s had worse, he’s fought real battles with _way_ worse- he can handle taking his pet for a walk with this injury.

He pointedly ignores Leo when they get back, continuing his plan to spend exactly zero time with his brother. Raph goes so far as to shove his phone into his side table drawer and leave it buried under the crap he’s got inside it. Ignoring the brothers who are ignoring _him._

Raph spends the rest of his night like that- drowning out the weird and increasingly uncomfortable silence of the lair with his drum kit, and ignoring all three of his siblings like they deserve to be.

And so ends night fucking four of the stupid drama Donnie and Mikey are causing.

 

 

 

The next night following, after errands meant more so to fill up their evening, distract them from how it’s been _five_ nights now and still _nothing_ from their siblings, and-

 _“You have no right to be_. _”_

Those words derail Raph’s thoughts, their delivery and tone so sudden and sharp he’s totally knocked off-balance.

They came from Leatherhead, their first mutant friend, someone they’d come to think of trustworthy in almost every way. Who is growling at them, sound rumbling from his barrel chest- Raph hasn’t been the target of that kind of threat in years, hasn’t had to worry at all of Leatherhead ever turning his strength and size and dangerously large mouth of sharp teeth on him. Not since Mikey charmed the old lizard over to their side of things.

Mikey, who was here, who was _here-_ who Leatherhead _hid_ from them, and then was convinced to force his own team into listening to him with threats- to play along and keep quiet and _hide Raph’s brother from him-_

 _“You have no right to be_ ,” Leatherhead said, the moment they tried to rail at him, and Raph doesn’t know what that’s even supposed to mean. _Leatherhead_ is the one without right, keeping their brother from them. And as the crocodile mutant goes on, the words that follow make no more sense than the first.

They’re _lucky_ , apparently, that Mikey said for Leatherhead to _not_ lose it on them in one of his infamous rages. And Raph can tell that’s what Leatherhead wants to do, can practically _feel_ the fury radiating off their friend- he knows anger, knows it so well, and his own is rising in tandem to meet Leatherhead’s head on.

“...what the _hell_ are you talking about?” Raph asks, and his words almost shake with how fucking _pissed off_ he is right now; that violent flood of emotion barely covering the boggling _confusion_ he’s feeling at the same time.

And with Leatherhead at his full height, _towering_ over them, growling so loud it echoes in Raph’s bones- Raph- flinches, gets the hilts of his weapons in his hands, barely restrains himself from drawing them on a _friend_ \- Leatherhead is broad and armored thickly by his scales and he’s _angry_ , he’s _furious_ , and Raph’s never been scared of the crocodile, but for a split second, just for a moment-

Raph’s breath catches in his throat, abruptly feeling very much like he’s in serious danger.

“It’s not my place to explain,” is said, the shadow over Raph moving away from him _._ “Leave my home, and leave your brothers alone. That is all I have to say to you,” following a beat later, and Raph still can’t unlock his body.

For a very long moment, the feeling of being in some great threat’s looming shadow persists, and Raph can’t breathe at all.

But finally, once Leatherhead is out of the room, once he figures out how to inhale again, _everything_ rushes back to him, and Raph lets the rage flow thick and burning.

But it’s not enough, all that anger and it’s _still not enough_ to drown out the hurt, bury the _betrayal_ he’s feeling. Leatherhead has always been Mikey’s friend more than Raph’s, though it still hurts, but _Slash-_ Slash was _Spike_ a handful of years ago, someone who might not have been able to answer back, but someone who Raph _loved_ , could care about and hold and never find any one thing setting him off. Slash was Spike and Raph thought of all the Mutanimals, of _all his friends,_ that he could _trust_ the tortoise.

For almost the length of his life, up until Raph got careless, didn’t consider the consequences, completely _fucked up_ and nearly got his brothers killed and lost his best friend in the process- until that night, and the months and years following, Slash was Spike and Spike was Raph’s anchor of comfort in a world that just felt too tight and dark sometimes.

And now, with Mikey gone, back out into the night and vanished like faded wind, Slash is standing in front of Raph and yelling back just as loud, just as angrily, defensive of his choices and his team and he just- _doesn’t get it,_ doesn’t get the fact that Raph doesn’t _care_ that Leatherhead threatened to leave the team if they told about Mikey’s presence in their hideout, only cares that his family is in two pieces and he wants it _whole_ again.

Mikey is his little brother and Raph wants him _back,_ wants him and Donnie in the lair again, where Raph can see them and assure himself- none of them are going anywhere, there’s no one left to keep fighting against, no chance of them getting hurt and losing each other if they’re all together, they’re only strong as a _team,_ and the thought of what could happen without Raph to be there for his brothers right now, out in the world, somewhere that might not be as secure and hidden as the stony echoing rooms they called _home_ all their lives, is terrifying him down to his core. And he thought, he genuinely and implicitly thought he could _trust Slash to understand that._

The fist to his face is as much a shock as Mikey and Donnie’s desertion had been.

Things are in fragments after that, filled with bursts of renewed anger and betrayal.

Never, not in a million years, would Raph have thought that Slash would tell him to just _leave_ like that. Would just _dismiss_ him like that. Choosing, after everything, after all the years Raph spent caring for him, talking to him, _loving_ his pet like nothing else in the world- Mikey, over Raph, even just by way of wanting to keep Leatherhead with the Mutanimals.

As if not enough of Raph’s world has suffered upheaval.

Raph’s head whirls with questions- _why would Mikey go to the Mutanimals over his own brothers, what could he have said to make Leatherhead so angry, how could Slash_ do this to him- and his chest is so tight it feels like he’s in a vice that just keeps tightening and tightening and _tightening._

How could Slash do this. How could Leatherhead. How could _Mikey._

He makes for his punching dummy the second they’re home, ignoring the burn of a cut on his cheek, ignoring how it got there. Focusing on making it to his last remaining anchor, the one thing in the whole world it feels like that’s just always _there_ for him to come back to.

But, with his chest not expanding all the way, his lungs not getting enough air, his head awash with emotions of rage and sickening betrayal both-

His sais slice into it before he knows they’re in his hands.

Sand spews free of the deep stomach wound Raph’s dealt to his dummy, spraying the floor with grains of tiny rocks that had been difficult to obtain. The next slash Raph puts into the lifeless figure earns him a cloud of murky stuffing, coming from the joint of an arm.

 _This is all I have left,_ Raph thinks, distant and vague, recalling that it’d been one of the few more positive one on one training exercises with his father that lead to the dummy’s creation. Splinter and him, to mitigate the violent temper he struggled with and still does, building a safe target to take it out on. A long few evenings, putting together the punching dummy that would eventually be used by everyone, but most of all by Raph. A staple, a constant, like Splinter’s presence in their home.

Splinter is dead. Mikey and Donnie left their home. Leatherhead hates them. Slash betrayed him.

Raph tears into the remnant of his childhood, letting the memories attached to it be drowned by the aching fury he’s filled with.

 

 

 

He’s on the rooftop, he’s unable to stand anymore, he’s feeling cuts and bruises all over him- the wind is thick in his face, moving too fast to inhale properly, stealing air as fast as he can suck it down as he struggles to get back up.

Raph reaches- _someone catches him, someone always catches him when he falters-_ and finds himself grasping at thin air. No one is at his side, she’s not here, she wouldn’t answer them and wouldn’t answer Casey and no one knows where-

April is gone, everyone else is gone, they _left him-_ and he’s forced to watch Shredder stab his father through the back all alone, body failing him, strength failing him, _failing, he_ _failed again just when it was truly important-_

It’s Raph’s hand connecting with the wall that jolts him out of the nightmare, fist loose and clumsy enough that it actually hurts him. Without his wrappings on, he’s scraped his knuckles. He can already feel the sting of the small injury.

Raph is uncomprehending for the length of eight shuddering breaths, so completely sure he’s still on that rooftop.

He’s shaky and weak as he sits up, trembling inside and out from the dream. It hurts, everything hurts, overly raw and torn on the edges. He doesn’t think it’s real; the safe darkness around him, the softly worn comforter over his legs, the snuffling nudges of Chompy against his side.

Numbly, Raph reaches over and turns on the lamp of his bedside table. His room feels alien to him; familiar but not. Everything is in its place, most of it possessions he’s had long as he can remember. Half the faded posters as old as he is, the drum kit in the corner battered but maintained carefully, and a hundred other objects that all come together to form somewhere Raph is supposed to be as familiar with as his own self.

It all feels _off_ right now.

His hand is shaking still as he puts it on Chompy’s spiny shell. The internal forge of the little alien radiates through his scutes and scales, usually comforting, tonight as otherworldly as everything else feels.

Slowly, things trickle back into Raph’s mind. Why he feels so tired. Why he feels so out of it. Why something inside him is _hurting,_ somewhere he can’t reach in and fix it.

Out of all the things that happened the night prior, hours ago, before the sun rose and Raph’s sleep devolved into the memory of him losing the person he thought was stronger than anyone-

Out of all those betrayals and hurts, the fact that he wrecked his punching dummy irreparably hits him sideways. And, like he’s some kid who’s broken a favorite toy, a sudden childish sadness sweeps over him.

Compared to everything, it really shouldn’t mean anything. And it was his choice. His fists and weapons. Raph tore it apart with his own two hands.

It still hurts.

His eyes fill, and Raph can’t even bother to wipe them as the stinging of tears slips over their edges. He’s exhausted and _hurting,_ and half of the reasons why are missing their answers.

Where did his brothers go? What did Mikey tell Leatherhead? Why won’t they just come _home_ already? And why the hell did Raph _do that_ , breaking one of the most important things he’d ever owned, ever been given by his _father?_

Chompy is whining, high and concerned, intelligent enough to know something is wrong with his owner if uncertain sure what, but clearly wanting it to stop. He’s trying to fix things, Raph is fairly sure, as Chompy moves out from under his hand to crawl onto Raph’s lap. Sitting there and tucking his legs under him, seeming to amp up the heat of his body- purring, a tiny little engine rumble, as he looks up at Raph and wags his tail tentatively.

For a moment, Raph sees the ghost of Spike in Chompy’s place.

Unable to stifle it fully, Raph chokes on a sob, and curls around the alien tortoise.

It hurts and it’s awful and Raph thought he was _over_ the pain of losing Spike, of giving up ownership of the person his friend had become. _Slash,_ a mutant, a person, a thinking being now but still someone Raph thought he could trust the same way.

Having Slash throw that back in his face brings up the wounds his first betrayal left, and Raph feels like he’s practically bleeding on the inside.

Chompy is trying, is trilling and purring and _trying_ to make him feel better, but it’s not the same, not nearly the same as Spike’s quiet comfort had been. Raph loves Chompy, but- he had Spike since he was little, learned to be gentle with someone small and fragile with the tortoise in his care. It’s not the _same_ , holding the hatchling of an alien species that’ll someday have the strength to crush cities. Chompy is precious and Raph’s responsibility and he loves him but he’s _not Spike._

Spike doesn’t exist anymore. Hasn’t for years.

There’s only Slash, and Slash doesn’t love him the way Raph thought, _hoped,_ he might still.

Raph cries, feels ashamed of that, and isn’t able to stop for a long time. He feels very, very alone, locked in his unfamiliar feeling room, hidden in a home that’s got too many missing people.

He doesn’t sleep well the rest of the day.

 

 

 

“Seriously?” is Casey’s response to recent events, after Raph and Leo split up for the rest of the night. Their search ended up pointless and fruitless and Raph really just wants someone who isn’t his brother to be with right now. He’s sick of Leo, sick of the empty rooms in the lair, and sick of feeling like everything he used to use as supports in his life are falling apart in his hands.

Six nights. Nearly six full turns of day and night since their brothers disappeared.

Raph’s insides twist in knots, made out of all the thoughts he’s having more and more trouble keeping under lock and key in his head.

“Yes seriously, they just tossed us out. Slash even- did this,” Raph says, pointing vaguely at the healing cut across his cheek. It’s not deep enough to scar for long, but it’s itchy as his accelerated healing does its work. And it represents something that’s hurtful enough Raph can’t think on it right now.

Casey grimaces. “Jesus, and I thought you guys were tight. That’s shitty, dude.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Raph mutters, kicking a dirty t-shirt away from himself. Casey’s room is still a disaster, as usual, and maybe even worse tonight as he puts together his gear. Which, due to some of it being necessary for normal sports play, got scattered over the course of the week.

At least tonight is a night Casey can come out with him. Saturday, as empty as the results for locating his brothers had been, means Casey is free to spend the whole of the nocturnal hours out raising hell. It’s a happier note among a lot of sour ones in Raph’s life right now.

Casey finally locates his collection of explosive pucks under his bed, and stands up to drop them onto the pile of other gear. Glancing at Raph, he asks, “So… do you want to keep looking for Donnie and Mikey, or, you know. Do normal shit.”

“We already combed the Mutanimals’ territory, and I’ve been over ours,” Raph says, frustrated by the unsuccessful searches and getting more so with each night. “I doubt we’ll find any more clues there the first five times I looked.”

“Could we look around _and_ kick some ass?” Casey suggests, and- right, he’s not as affected by this as Raph, isn’t feeling as pissed off by Mikey and Donnie’s game of hide and fuck-off-into-the-void. Casey still just wants to _find_ Raph’s siblings, instead of find them _and_ punch them in the face for everything that’s happened.

“Sure,” Raph agrees, because why not. He’s already wasted his whole evening searching for the two assholes, why not waste the rest of his night, too?

Maybe Casey will help Raph deal out the appropriate punishment whenever they run across his brothers. Casey still has that grudge against Donnie, right? Raph could just set the two of them on each other and deal with Mikey exclusively. Less work for him overall.

God he’s so fucking angry with his brothers. For them driving him nuts with worry of their well-being, for causing Leatherhead to turn on everyone, for being inconsiderate _shits_ who won’t answer their phones and will, without a doubt, run into serious trouble eventually and get themselves _hurt-_

Raph shakes his head, brushing off the sudden sweep of worry and breathing in deeply to fight the tightness under his plastron.

“Ready to go?” Casey asks, having gotten ready at some point while Raph was thinking over other things. His friend already has his grappling hook out and ready to rappel to street level out his bedroom window; his assorted melee weapons on his back and mask perched up on his head. Raph manages to smile at that eagerness.

“Was just waitin’ on you,” Raph replies sardonically, and feels a little less like everything is _wrong_ with his life, being able to slip into the normal bantering he has with Casey.

There’s not much to find in terms of crime tonight. They barely run into more than a couple teenagers, some of them barely that, trying to make themselves bigger and scarier than they actually are. All it takes is one look at Casey’s likely notorious skeletal hockey mask, and then a split second glimpse of Raph on the roofs of the buildings above them, and the teens hightail it back to wherever they ought to actually be. Given how many years now Raph and his family have patrolled this area, and Casey, too, for almost as long, it’s unsurprising they know to back down before a fight even brews.

Raph still feels like it’s a weirdly quiet night, especially as they drift into rougher neighborhoods. They manage to beat up exactly two guys- one trying to stupidly mug _Casey,_ the psycho with an arsenal on his back, and the other a wannabe carjacker, barely able to scratch the window before Raph slams his forehead against it.

It’s hardly a workout, and it’s only after they find a sketchy looking Purple Dragon recruit do they get any answers as to where the fuck everyone’s gone.

“I-it’s the Foot, okay? They’re- they’re out for blood tonight, an’ it’s got nothing to do with any of us!” says the guy, gurgles really, once Raph has him by the throat and against an alley wall.

He hears Casey knock his hockey stick against the ground, making a _tunk_ sound on the dirty concrete, and Raph presses his arm against the man’s throat a little harder. For good measure reminding him that there’s the tip of a sai poised to collapse his lung as well, poking through the shirt he’s wearing.

“Who’s blood?” Raph asks.

“ _Gkk-_ no- no one around here,” says the Dragon, whole shades paler now. It’s a good look for him. “They’re goin’ for some gang over northside, way outside o-our turf. Drug trade. _So_ not our thing. We’re all just tryin’ to lay low and not draw attention to ourselves, okay? I was getting _milk,_ man.”

Raph vaguely remembers a plastic bag being dropped on the pavement when they grabbed him, and huffs. If it hadn’t been for the sleeveless shirt he’d been wearing, exposing his tattoo, Raph admits he wouldn’t have paid the guy any attention.

“Cover up that eyesore if you don’t want us harassing you, then,” Raph sneers, and releases the guy. He steps back, watching the Dragon rub his throat and cough a little. “Or better yet, get it removed entirely. Unless you’re into getting your ass beat on a nightly basis.”

The Dragon doesn’t reply, just ducking away from Raph and Casey and hightailing it back onto the main street. Casey snorts, calling the gangbanger a pussy under his breath. Raph agrees with the insult; there’s so few criminals around anymore that can even get his blood going. At best, it’s like a light jog. In a weird and complicated way, a part of Raph really misses the enemies they used to throw down with.

But. A few of them he doesn’t. Not even a little.

As the time edges towards ungodly morning instead of ungodly nighttime hours, they call it. Raph gives Casey a solid fist bump before they part, and they promise to keep each other in the loop if either of them finds Raph’s brothers. Or figures out where the hell April’s gotten off to.

Leo’s on the couch when Raph arrives home; his brother clearly sulking about something. But, as Raph has had a disappointing patrol with Casey, found no trace of their siblings _anywhere,_ and hasn’t quite forgiven his Sensei for being an utter _ass_ the other night- he’s not inclined to ask why Leo looks so put out and grumpy.

He chooses to walk past Leo without acknowledgement of his brother’s sulky pout, and goes straight to his room to avoid any part in it. And if Leo _really_ wanted attention anyway, he could have just called after Raph.

Whatever, it’s not actually Raph’s issue. Truth be told, with the mood he’s simmering in, he couldn’t give less of a shit why Leo’s upset about something.

 

 

 

Part of Raph thought it had been just a fluke, that Slash had just been a bit wound up and would come back around to their side of things.

The tortoise, his former best friend, remains stubborn about not going behind Leatherhead’s back and spilling the times when Mikey is around the hideout.

Slash tries, after a disastrous conference call where Leatherhead hangs up the moment Raph speaks, to placate them, remind them he honestly doesn’t know anything important about Mikey and Donnie’s whereabouts. Raph hardly listens; too busy clenching his fists and breathing through the offense of Leatherhead’s dismissal, of Slash’s continued loyalty to Raph’s _brothers_ instead of _him._

He’s got so many different threads of frustration and hurt and worry all tangled up in him, without any solid method anymore to work them off- his _punching dummy,_ why the hell did he _do that-_ and no end in sight of the way his entire fucking world keeps turning itself on its head.

Raph feels himself building up, almost constantly now. The threat of an explosion because he doesn’t have _anywhere_ to vent anymore. His drum kit is only half a remedy, his walks with Chompy barely a few moments of peace- and with Karai’s Foot soldiers out in the night terrorizing the larger gangs and crushing the smaller ones, there’s only a handful of idiots still out and about for Raph to pick off.

And _April_ is helping with that, helping with cutting off yet another one of Raph’s outlets. The most frustrating part of that is that she didn’t even _tell_ them she was. The only reason Raph even knows, _eventually_ , about where she’s been disappearing to is because of Leo coming home in a storm of emotions more suited to Raph.

“She totally disrespected my authority, _completely_ disregarded that I’m her Sensei- can you believe that, Raph?” Leo demands, barely after telling Raph why he’s acting like someone shit in his cereal. “And _Karai-_ I thought- I thought she’d finish what we started. I thought she’d pull the Foot out of New York completely and- I don’t know, go back to Japan, maybe disband the whole clan. But _no,_ she’s just- spreading the influence of the Foot all over again, and _April_ is helping her!”

Somehow, with almost every other person in his life turning on him, a part of Raph isn’t totally surprised that April’s switched sides.

It still- hurts. Like Leatherhead, like Slash. Like their brothers.

Raph always kind of considered April as a neutral party, in a weird way. Even if she was closer to Donnie than any of the rest of them, she never actually _chose_ someone over anyone else. Stubborn of her own values and unwilling to get involved in petty scuffles; something Raph liked about her. In very, very private moments, Raph used her as a base idea for what having a sister might have been like.

But Karai, whether they expected it or not, is their actual sister, and she’s gone and stolen April to _her_ team instead of Raph’s. So fuck having sisters, actually.

Even if April claims it to be helping find Raph’s little brothers, it doesn’t change the fact that she didn’t _tell them._ April totally cut them out of her little plan, and only came forward about it when she got caught red-handed.

And Karai didn’t exactly drop a resignation letter off on behalf of April, so Raph is actually just as pissed with her as he is with April, and his brothers, and Slash, and Leatherhead, and basically fucking _everyone_ in his life.

He’s so furious he thinks he might’ve cracked a tooth, grinding his teeth like he is. But. Underneath that fury… Raph feels a lot of betrayal, and it’s cutting deeper than he’d ever be comfortable admitting. He feels… abandoned.

He’s only got so many people in the entire world who accept who he is, as he is, and for what he is. And it’s those handful of people that he trusts; with his friendship, with his family, with all of their safety.

And here he is now. His brothers having run away without so much as a look back, their first friend _ever_ walking away from the position in their family they gave her, the first mutant they ever met besides themselves spurning Raph and Leo for even speaking to him, Raph’s first and very closest best friend from a point in his memories that become blurry and aged siding all but _against_ him in this dividing of their family- and it’s _not fair._

What did they even do? What did he or Leo do to deserve this?

It doesn’t matter how much vitriol Raph texts his brothers, looking for a rise, backlash _something_ \- his messages go unanswered, and the days keep piling up.

Raph doesn’t even care anymore _why_ his brothers left. He just wants them back so he can punch them in their faces for causing this all.

 

 

 

The rooftop is too wide, Raph can’t cross it in time. Even though he’s running fast as he can, it just keeps getting wider, and he’s alone again. Everyone left him, he’s the only one here and there’s no one to help him stop it, stop the inevitable blow that’ll shatter _everything_ about his life and world and his _family,_ they’ll lose _everything_ if he can’t reach his father in time- please god let him _reach Splinter in time-_

But Raph is weak, he’s not strong enough, he’s barely able to force the ever stretching roof to let him cross a quarter of the distance- rain starting to come down fast and hard, lightning streaking the sky as everything _howls_ at the tragedy in progress, and Raph- Raph _can’t-_

Splinter is impaled, body going rigid and then limp. Raph screams.

The world falls apart in broken pieces, rain blinding him, and it’s only after Raph’s knees hit pavement, his hands grasping at a soaked robe, that he realizes he finally made it to his father’s side.

They’re on the street, they’re out in the open, _anyone_ could see them, they have to hide, have to get up and regroup, but Splinter-

He’s not moving.

Raph’s hands come away slick with red.

His father is dead.

His father is dead and Raph failed him.

He failed like he always fails and this time it didn’t just cost them a fight, didn’t just cause one of his siblings to get angry with him, didn’t just become yet another small mistake to blacken his record of attempts and failures-

Splinter is _dead,_ and Raph’s failure is that; is losing his father, is failing just when it came down to the wire and this time. This time there’s no going back, no fixing this.

Raph can’t breathe, hands trembling as he touches Splinter’s chest again. The wounds are wide and ragged, torn worse by the Shredder throwing him off the roof.

Raph puts his hands over them, pressing down, trying to close the wounds. It just makes blood and flesh squelch under his palms, between his fingers- its hot and cold at the same time, rain pouring down on them both, and Raph- can’t breathe, can’t see clearly, can’t think of anything except that no, no no _no,_ Splinter can’t die, he can’t die like this, can’t die because Raph _failed_ he couldn’t live with that on his consciousness couldn’t live knowing _he let his father die right in front of him-_

There’s the rain and lightning and everything feels like it’s burning as Raph watches red and red and more red bleed between his fingers as he pushes down, and it’s all pointless, the body is cold, Splinter is already gone, Raph is fighting a force not even his father could overpower, something _no one_ can escape once it sinks its teeth into you, and it’s his fault, he failed, Raph failed and his father is paying the price for it and _why won’t the blood stop please make it stop-_

Raph comes out of the nightmare kicking and flailing, running into the wall as he scrabbles to find something solid to hold on to.

It’s dark in his room, the sounds filling it being his own harsh gasps and Chompy waking up from Raph’s vocalized terror. There’s no one here. He’s underground. He’s not in danger. There’s no rain falling on him to freeze his scales and no blood on his palms that burns and burns and _burns_ as Splinter’s life escapes his grasps, fading, receding, not even death spasms left as he- as he-

Raph hears Chompy distantly squeaking and calling after him, as Raph bursts out of his room and stumbles away from the scenes trying to suck him back in. He sways, wiping at his hands even though there’s nothing there, it’s not _real_ -

-rain and wind and lightning and a filthy street, his father’s corpse and sightless dead eyes staring up and up and far past Raph and everyone else around them-

Raph makes an aborted sound of pain, and has to get away from that. From- all _this_ , the empty rooms and hollow halls and high ceilings that echo _nothingness_ back at him because everyone is gone, there’s no one left, they _abandoned_ him, _betrayed_ him, and Raph- Raph can’t lose his brothers too, can’t live if he sees another of his family members _die right in front of him-_

He’s somewhere smaller, now, somewhere as dark as the lair and just as lonely. Ghosts are still following, clinging to his heels- Raph spent his whole childhood here, running the length of tunnels their father deemed safe and secure; spent days and nights and all the hours between roaming in the network of tunnels that never seemed to end. They’re so empty now, empty as the lair is- Splinter used to walk here, sometimes with Raph, mostly with Leo- long and slow jaunts from their home, pacing the solitude of stone burrows that made up Raph’s entire world.

But Splinter is gone, has _been gone_ for months now, and now his brothers are gone _too._ They’re out there somewhere and Raph doesn’t know _why_ they left, how _could they,_ not a single response to texts or calls, ignoring pleas and demands and threats they come home. Back where Raph can see them, can watch over them, can assure himself they’re _okay, they’ll all be okay,_ the Shredder is dead, he can’t take anyone else from him, the Shredder is _dead-_

But there are so many others, practically everyone in the world is a threat. They’re mutants, they’re creatures, they’re freaks of nature and _no one_ would turn a blind eye to that. Barely their friends, more than half of them enemies at first. And the government knows- they’re here, they exist, and who knows how long until the reports of the mutants appearing sporadically on the news are about _one of them, one of Raph’s brothers,_ turning up on the wrong end of a gun’s bullet and bleeding out somewhere on the street, blood spilling out their wounds and slipping between Raph’s fingers and _not again, not again never again please not AGAIN-_

Raph’s shoulder hits the wall, his steps veering far left and his legs giving out as they do. The tightness in his chest is excruciating, clamping down on his lungs and throat, choking out any air he manages to inhale as he takes fast and shallow breaths. The dark of the tunnel keeps getting darker, his vision receding on the edges, and it _hurts,_ he’s _scared,_ he’s alone and he doesn’t know where his brothers are and they’ll _die_ out there, they’re going to die and he’ll have to bury them too and he can’t, he can’t he can’t _he_ _can’t do that again-_

Raph curls on himself, nails scratching against his plastron as he tries to inhale. It’s like something- is wrenching his insides, tearing everything up, leaving him bleeding places he can’t reach and filling his lungs with thick liquid instead of air. He feels like he’s _dying._

It hurts, everything in his head and heart and chest _hurts,_ and Raph can’t do more than choke and gasp as everything that fuels his nightmares rises up in vengeance and crashes down on him. _His brothers are gone and they’ll die without him ever knowing, his friends won’t talk to him and he doesn’t know why, his father is dead and it’s because he failed just like always does-_ over and over, the thoughts tangling together and getting louder each time around- _his brothers are dead and it’s because he failed, his father is gone and he doesn’t understand why, his friends won’t tell what’s going on and why they’re keeping his brothers away- they’re already gone they’re already dead Raph’s going to have to bury them all he failed he failed he failed-_

Raph blanks out, lost in the static of terror and suffocation.

 

 

 

At some point, Raph realizes he can breathe again.

He’s been staring into darkness for who knows how long. And as he sits up from where he’d curled up on the cold ground, he feels the tackiness of dried tears on his face and the rawness of everything inside him.

Raph… doesn’t know what that was. Where any of that came from, or why it knocked him sideways so completely. He’s… used to those things, can handle those things… it shouldn’t have caused him to totally meltdown like that.

It’s embarrassing. Raph is alone in the dark tunnel, but he feels mortified anyway.

Even though a large part of him wants to just lie back down, let the things that’d dragged him there in the first place take hold again and sink his world into void- Raph forces his legs to work, and gets to his feet. He has to lean heavily on the wall at first, before pushing off of it; disgusted by his own weakness.

He drags himself back to the lair, pushing through the exhaustion now spreading throughout his body. Chompy is wandering the emptiness of their home, calling out mournfully for Raph and spitting flickers of flame from stress.

Raph manages to summon the energy to pick up his pet, cradling him close and sucking in a harsh breath at the heat of Chompy’s body. It starts to thaw the iciness of Raph’s hands, pushing back the numbness trying to settle into his head and limbs.

He feels… too tired to work up any sort of effort anymore. Not even anger, an emotion that’s been pulsing in him steadily since he read that damn note Mikey left them.

Raph just… wants to sleep.

Keeping Chompy close to his chest as he goes to return to his room, Raph blearily notes that the VCR player under the television says it’s nearly four in the afternoon. In less than four hours, his phone’s alarm will go off, and he’ll be expected to be up and ready for training.

Or, he would have been, a few months ago.

Splinter was the one who expected that of them, and now… with Mikey and Donnie gone, it’s just Leo here, and Leo seems to prefer his own company in the evenings to Raph’s.

Raph is too wrung out to even work up a spark of annoyance at that.

He takes his pet to bed, burrowing under his comforter and trying to blot out the world with fabric and a tiny purring heat source. Things are still out of place inside him, thrown into disarray by whatever… happened to him.

And he aches, somewhere deep inside his chest. Aches fiercer than almost any wound he’s ever received.

Raph sleeps restlessly, and isn’t able to rise from bed until long past his alarm goes off.

 

 

 

For the majority of the two weeks their brothers have been missing, Raph did his searches alone or with Casey. But they’re close to hitting another week’s halfway mark on top of those two weeks, and Raph… is feeling lonely, actually. Casey can only be out with him so many days of the week, and the quiet of the lair is starting to follow Raph everywhere he goes.

So he joins Leo on his randomly picked neighborhood combings; an extra pair of eyes upping the odds they’ll find something.

But, they find nothing, and despite how uncomfortably isolated Raph is starting to feel, he can’t figure out how to talk with Leo anymore without a fight. It’s just- always something, some little thing that manages to set one or both of them off again. They’ve always fought, their positions as the A-team and older pair of siblings causing friction as they competed for attention and wins against each other- but this is different. It’s like… whatever let them get along, even in the moments when they really wanted to take a go at each other (or really, when Raph wanted to take a go at Leo), has just… broken down.

It’s because of their brothers, Raph reasons, simmering and growling after yet another fight with Leo over who’s doing dishes that night. It’s because Mikey and Donnie left and upset the balance of their home. It’s their fault, and the longer they hide away somewhere, the angrier Raph finds himself getting.

He sometimes feels like he’s always angry, on a level. But the moments when his temper flares are getting brighter and hotter, in a way that lashes back at him as much as it does at Leo. Raph doesn’t actually _want_ to be this angry, but his brothers are making him. This is their fault, ruining the hierarchy and structure of their home, breaking up the team and leaving Raph and Leo hanging.

Raph is pissed off beyond belief in some moments, and can’t do anything more than send a stream of furious comments about his brothers’ behavior to them. To which they never answer.

Assholes.

They could at least pick a fight with him already, given the stuff he’s sent them.

So cowardly assholes, actually. Not just ditching them, but too wimpy to man up and face the music of what they’ve done.

After the umpteenth search Raph does with Leo, driving home in the Party Wagon without anything to show for the hours of work- Raph thinks that he’s getting to the point where he maybe just wants to find his brothers simply so he can tell them to get lost again.

“You guys just need some R n’ R,” Casey suggests later that same night; lounging on the lair couch and eating the leftovers that neither Raph nor Leo wanted to touch. Their cooking… isn’t exactly tasty. Somehow, probably because he’s got a thing for putting himself in danger, Casey has been eating a lot of the more inedible dishes they leave wrapped in the fridge.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Raph says dryly, slouching deeper into his beanbag, “our lives are kind of mostly R and R these days. Karai keeps stomping out all the good fights, and…” _Shredder’s goons are all gone, and he’s dead,_ Raph doesn’t say, and doesn’t need to.

“Well… it might be easier to find some now, since she’s agreed to leave our territory alone,” Leo speaks up, entering the conversation for the first time since Casey arrived. Until now, he’s been on the far opposite of the couch and pretending he and his novel are too good to acknowledge Raph or their friend. Raph rolls his eyes, since it’s clear even to him Karai only ‘agreed’ to that because she’d already been planning it, and not because Leo whined at her for it.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Casey says, pointing at Leo with his spoonful of rice that’s practically glued together. “You just need something to unwind with, so let’s go lookin’ for an outlet, alright? I got some time before I gotta go home tonight.”

Raph wants to disagree that they don’t just need to ‘unwind’, but… hell, it’s not like they’re managing to get anywhere searching relentlessly. Slash and Leatherhead are still stonewalling them, April is just about MIA, since it’s only brief times during the day Casey sees her and the glimpses of her presence Leo notes in the Foot headquarters still, and in all that their brothers _still_ won’t re-establish contact.

Raph is almost tired of being pissed off, but so long as this all keeps happening, he’s more than likely going to maintain that mood.

(He’s so worried sometimes he feels sick, so freaked out after some nightmares he can’t breathe right until the sun sets, so completely certain _something_ is going to happen to his brothers the longer this goes on that his hands shake and his throat constricts and he can’t _think_ -)

“Why the fuck not,” is what he says, pushing the noise in his head back down. A fight, even just a light one, would be appreciated. After all, he’s still stepping on granules of sand ground into the cracks of the lair’s floor. He doesn’t exactly have a punching dummy anymore to work off the- pent up emotions (not stress, he’s not stressed, he’s _fine_ ).

In the end, they find a fight, they have said fight, and Raph comes out of it with a handful of bruises and feels exactly as miserable as he did going into it.

The lair is so cold and silent, with just him and Leo coming back to it.

 

 

 

Not even two nights after the brief scuffle with the four Purple Dragons, April stops responding to any text or call completely, and through Karai tells them to fuck off.

Raph wants to be surprised that April’s completely shut them out, but he’s not.

He wants to feel some form of shock, be able to claim he didn’t see it coming- but from how she’s been ignoring them, sticking with the Foot over anyone else, it just feels inevitable.

Leatherhead turned on them, and turned Slash as well, and their own _brothers_ ran away- so why not April, too? Why the fuck _not_ would the very first friend any of them ever had decide she’s done talking with them, done with so much as _looking_ at them?

Raph hates her. Hates Leatherhead, hates Slash, and hates his _brothers._

He hates all of them.

Hates Leo, too, for wandering around their home and seeming unable to pick a mood. Raph hates his brother for having nights where he’s acting like he’s some untouchable, unflappable _master-_ which he kind of actually is and Raph hates that, too- and then having nights where he seems to look right through Raph for a second too long, starting to feel distant in a way that’s not due anymore to their hierarchy positions.

Raph hates his friends and his brothers, hates that his sleep is almost constantly riddled with nightmares, hates that his home feels too large, too empty, filled with just two voices and dust gathering on what remains of their brothers’ possessions-

It all hurts, cutting Raph up inside and keeping him feeling unbalanced. Without Mikey and Donnie, it’s begun to feel like he’s had two limbs cut off- phantom pain striking Raph in sporadic moments and causing a shock of electricity up his spine and through his hands. It’s a feeling whose cause is so wrapped up in tangling emotions that he can’t even tell which the root is anymore.

Then again, it actually all just traces back to his brothers running away.

It’s their fault; they’re the cause of the twisting, churning, sickening tightness inside him, and the cause of all their friends, one by one, turning away from Raph and Leo. There’s only Casey left, and Raph already feels a new knot of tension forming at the thought of his best friend leaving him, too.

Raph hates his brothers more than he hates anything else about this situation.

He desperately wants them to just come home already.

 

 

 

It’s been just over three full weeks since Mikey and Donnie disappeared, the night Casey comes into the lair with a tight expression on his face.

Raph feels his spirits pick up a little, and he turns down the volume of the TV as he rises to meet his friend at the entrance to the lair. For vague reasons Casey texted him, his friend has been unavailable for any kind of hang out time for a couple days now.

“Sup,” Raph says, offering a fist to his friend. Casey, hesitating for a weirdly long moment, takes one hand out of his hoodie’s pocket to return the gesture.

“Sup,” Casey replies, subdued in an abnormal way. Raph notes tension in his friend’s posture, the way he’s gingerly meeting Raph’s eyes and seeming to be looking for something.

“Hey, you feeling alright?” Raph asks, looking closer and seeing tiredness to Casey’s eyes. “You getting sick?”

“Uh, not… really. Just had too many drinks the other night,” Casey says, and the way he’s speaking sounds oddly careful.

“Is _that_ where you’ve been?” Raph snorts. “You get grounded or something for getting shitfaced?”

“Nah, my dad’s not the type. He just tells me to be more careful with how much alcohol I ingest and to make sure I drink enough water.” He stops, running a hand backwards over his scalp and pressing down his already flat black hair. “Hey, Raph, I kinda-”

“Casey!”

Raph jerks his focus to the person entering the lair at nearly a run, her dully silver Foot clan armor shining under the lights. Automatically, his lip curls and Raph snaps, “Oh, so you feel like talking to us again? Could’ve just fucking called, _April.”_

April completely ignores him, marching right over to Casey and hissing at him, “We _agreed,_ we told them we wouldn’t interfere!”

“I don’t _care,”_ Casey hisses back at her, “and I already told Don I was gonna to this anyway-”

“This isn’t our place to-”

“They’re our friends, he’s my _best friend,_ of course I’m gonna-”

“Wait,” Raph interrupts, grasping a name thrown out in the conversation and feeling his fury switch gears from April to- “Casey, you talked with _Donnie?_ What the _fuck!_ You said you tell me if you found them, and- April, you. Did _both_ of you find them and _not-?”_

The flash of guilt in both his friends’ expressions is enough to confirm Raph’s accusation.

Raph is actually struck silent for a second, completely and utterly betrayed that not just April, but _Casey_ kept his brothers’ location from him. _His_ brothers, who he’s been worried about for _weeks,_ and they had the _nerve to-_

“How- _what the FUCK?”_ Raph yells at them, clenching his fists and drawing himself up. “How could you _do that?_ You know how worried we’ve been, and you just- just didn’t _tell us_ where our brothers are? _Fuck you!”_

“It got complicated, okay?” Casey defends sharply, and Raph hates that his human friend is taller than him, can look down on him right now. “April knew an’ she told me an’ I went on my own. She didn’t even _want_ to confront them, but I. I was trying to fix things, alright? I was just lookin’ for answers for you guys and things got- Donnie…”

“Donnie _what?”_ Raph demands as his fists tremble in anger.

 _“Casey,”_ April cautions again, tone even harsher than the first time, and Casey still waves her off.

“Look, Donnie told me some stuff, a _lot_ of stuff, an’ then I talked a little with Mikey later, and…” Casey swallows, distinctly uncomfortable. “They said that why they left was ‘cause of how you and Leo treat them.”

“…what?” is all Raph can manage to say, incredulous of the statement his friend just made. Honestly? _Seriously?_   “You’re kidding, right?” he asks, staring at Casey, then at April.

Why are they looking at him like that? Why do they look so grim?

“Raph… you ever notice how much you hit Mikey?” Casey asks in a low voice, one that’s more careful than any other tone he’s ever used, and Raph-

“Are you being serious right now? _”_ he says, taking a step back from both humans. Something like humor bubbles up in him, and he nearly lets out a furious laugh. Because of course, of _course._ “You’re telling me they disappeared like this, turned every fucking friend we’ve got between us against me an’ Leo, have ignored every single god damn text or call we send them- because I hit _Mikey?”_

“Yeah, and ‘cause of other reasons, but that’s a big one,” Casey replies, and why the _fuck_ is he looking at Raph like that?

Raph’s temper roars in his ears, humor draining away to become tried and true _annoyance_ with his dumbass youngest sibling. “Of course it was somethin’ stupid, I can’t believe it. Actually, no, I should’ve known. That’s just like him, makin’ something small out to be this big overblown deal- I give him a smack and he does _this?_ And drags everyone else into it with him? All of this, all of _this,_ and it’s ‘cause Mikey felt like being a shit about some stupid fight.” Raph throws up his hands, so furious he wants to find Mikey right this second and give him a _real_ reason to be upset about getting hit. “I should’ve hit him harder! If he wanted to make a big deal then he should’ve told me! I swear to god, none of you should’ve listened to that dumbass, this is just more of his bullshit fucking up my life and making literally _everything_ more aggravating than it needs to be-”

Casey hauls off and punches him without warning.

Raph hits the floor, so surprised by the blow he couldn’t even correct his fall to land right. For a drawn out moment, he’s stuck there. Processing what’s just happened. Touching his cheek, the very same one Slash hit a few weeks ago- and Raph just. Doesn’t understand what’s going on.

 _Casey hit me,_ Raph thinks, and lifts his eyes to stare at his friend.

Casey is red in the face, breathing harshly, and Raph doesn’t recall his friend ever turning so much anger on him.

“What kind of person,” Casey spits, words rising into a shout, “says that about his own _brother?”_

Raph doesn’t understand.

“What?” is all he can manage to say as April drags Casey backwards, the both of them yelling at each other, at Raph- and Casey- Casey’s still shouting furious things at him, fighting April’s grip to get at Raph again, maybe to hit him again, maybe to just scream in his face, and Raph just doesn’t know _why_.

 _“Fuck you!_  You- you’re my best friend and you think that’s  _okay?_  Why the fuck- I thought you were- you were supposed to-”

What?

 _“Casey!_ You  _promised me-”_

Raph doesn’t-

“You were supposed to prove me  _wrong! You were supposed to own up to it and- and-”_

Prove him wrong? How? What did he-

_“Casey!!”_

Raph can’t even summon anger, he’s just- confused-

 _“Fuck you!_  Fuck you for that shit you pulled! Fuck you for being an abusive dickwad and thinking its  _okay-”_

 _“CASEY!”_  April shouts over Casey’s stream of insults, hauling him by his hoodie backwards from Raph and saying, “You  _promised me_  you’d let them handle this  _themselves._  This is Donnie and Mikey’s fight-  _not yours.”_

“He’s  _my best friend,”_  Casey snarls, and at that- his furious expression breaks, cracks of something painful leaking through. “He’s  _my best friend,_  and I didn’t see  _shit.”_

The look he casts at Raph, one made from anger and hurt and- _betrayal,_ twisting into something that makes Raph feel very small for having it turned on him.

It’s an expression that seems to be hurting Casey as much as it is Raph.

And he doesn’t even understand why it’s on his friend’s face to begin with.

 Even as Casey turns his ire on Leo, Raph’s brother interrupting things too late to even try and stop them. Even after April shoves Casey out of the lair, turning one last pitying and grim look on them before walking out herself. Even after Leo approaches Raph in slow steps, kneeling next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder, asking _what just happened, why were they here, why did Casey do that,_ Raph-

Can’t manage to say another word before his friends leave, and feels like the last remaining part of his life that made any sense, the very last friend he’d been certain (hoping) wouldn’t turn on him too, has just been yanked from his grasp like everyone else was.

 

 

 

Casey won’t reply to any of Raph’s texts, in the hours following. Raph stares at his phone, stares at yet another message chain filling up with his words and his words alone- and doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand.

 _Abusive_ , Casey called him. But- that’s not right. Raph might get annoyed with them, might feel like he can’t stand to be around them a second longer than he has to some nights- but he doesn’t want to wilfully hurt his siblings, he doesn’t want to abuse them. He doesn’t hate them. Raph loves them enough that even after three weeks of silence he’s still texting them, still asking for them to come home- spending half his nights worrying about their well-being, concerned the time that they’ll slip up will come before he can find them, that he’ll have to get the news of their location _after_ the tragedy’s happened and he’s too late to do anything to save them-

Raph loves his brothers. Sure, he might smack Mikey upside the head, but that’s justified. It’s to keep Mikey in line, remind him to shut his mouth when he’s acting stupid. Raph loves Mikey; he’s not abusive towards his brother.

Right?

Casey doesn’t reply to his texts. Mikey doesn’t reply to his texts. No one gives Raph the answers he desperately, desperately wants.

 

 

 

Days pile on top of days, nights pile on top of nights; weeks flow by and Raph doesn’t think he’s ever been as lonely as he is now.

Even when it was just his family, before he and his brothers ever broached the subject of traversing the surface alone- it wasn’t this quiet in his world, so spacious for all the wrong reasons. Raph had blotted it out from the start, repressed his awareness of it, but the lair is just so _empty_ without Mikey and Donnie in it. Raph, with Casey’s withdrawn friendship, feels like he’s existing in a vacuum of space.

There’s just him and Leo, now. The shrine of their father, which Leo has taken to sitting in front of for _hours,_ doesn’t count.

Raph’s life has always been made up of scavenged things, patched up things; stolen baubles and hoarded moments that are all strung together to form the hidden life of a mutant turtle. But even if it isn’t exactly glamorous, is built with just what he’s been able to have in a world that would kill him if it got the chance- it’s still _his,_ and that all goes for his family, too.

They’re creatures, they’re animals given minds of their own- they’re mistakes of fate that got a chance to have purpose, being ninjas and brothers and a _family_ together. Even if all the rest of the world hates them and sees them as monsters, at least they always had _each other._ At least they had that one, true, unconditional source of love.

And now what do they have?

It’s been four weeks, and Raph wants to say they have _nothing._

And part of him is terrified at that, cold in the bottom of his soul at the thought of losing his brothers not just like this, but _permanently._ His friends he could handle, probably, maybe, having them leave him; they lived such an enclosed and limited life before meeting April and setting everything in motion. Maybe, _probably,_ Raph could go back to that. But not without his brothers, not without two people he’s shared every single moment of his life with- up to the point they _left him._

Raph can’t imagine his life without his brothers. He just _can’t._ He’s living it right now, that future, a life without Mikey’s obnoxious exuberance and Donnie’s nit-picky attitude- and he can’t comprehend it fully. Their rooms have been empty for _weeks_ and he’ll catch himself still waiting to hear a voice chime in on a conversation, for someone to demand a turn with the television, for either of them to come into his space and bug him with something inane and ridiculous, and exactly none of those things happen.

Their silence persists, refusal to even _acknowledge_ what Raph sends them through text; or what messages he’ll leave, when it’s late in the day and his dreams won’t let him rest and he just. Can’t _handle_ being alone here, spending those bleak hours being convinced by everything horrible in his head that they’ll _die,_ be killed without Raph and Leo to back them up when the time comes- and still, they don’t answer.

No one is answering Raph anymore, save for Slash, sometimes. Raph is still hurting, still nursing a wound deep in himself that stems from Slash’s unwillingness to help him more. But Slash is the only one still talking to him even somewhat anymore, and…

Raph is sinking into a place, bit by bit, where even as his anger builds, and his frustration mounts, and his urge to find his brothers and finally shake them until they apologize or explain or _something,_ give him _something_ to let him understand what the _hell_ they’ve done to their lives- even with all those familiar and desperate emotions fueling his unpredictable rages, the choking, constricting sensation he used to get only sometimes is making itself home in him. It’s dragging him down, disturbing his sleep to the point he can barely get any, and leaves echoing thoughts that are just so _convincing_ he can’t ignore them.

Raph can’t imagine a life without his brothers, all three of them, at his side.

But if this continues, Raph doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive Mikey or Donnie for what they’ve done. Maybe to the point he just won’t even _want_ them around any longer.

Maybe they should just stay away permanently, and once the silence, and the emptiness, and the holes in their battle formations fill themselves naturally- Raph will get used to them not being here, and finally be able to move the fuck on with his life without them. They didn’t _want_ to stay anyway, apparently, so why should he want them to come back at all?

(Those are the lies he tells himself. They barely soothe the aching loneliness, or wounds of betrayal.)

 

 

 

It’s already been close to seven weeks before Raph even notices.

The days and nights are blurring, the way his sleep is so disturbed and his waking hours filled with a hundred little things driving him mad. And without many of his friends all that willing to so much as breathe the same air as him, Raph doesn’t have anyone to distract him from the most aggravating parts of his existence.

One of those things being the behavior of Leo, who has all but withdrawn into himself. The rare times Raph can manage to get even half a rise out of his brother, the fight peters off into unresolved silence. It’s like all his _Sensei_ can do anymore is meditate and ask their deceased Sensei’s shrine for guidance. Leo, at one point, claimed Splinter visited him after they buried their father. Given that the time of their father’s passing involved Leo acting very much like he is now- hollow eyed, distant, rarely uttering more than a handful of sentences- Raph is really beginning to question how right in his head Leo was then, and is now.

Some leader Leo makes in this sorry state. Not only did two of his students/team members disappear from under his nose, but the other two defected a scant few weeks later. Raph is the only one left, but he sure isn’t looking to Leo for any sort of guidance any longer. He just lives here, unfortunately, in their house full of ghosts and empty rooms.

(Raph is ignoring that he didn’t notice anything amiss, either. It’s not his fault, he’s not the leader, it’s not _his_ responsibility to provide guidance to anyone, and he’d probably do a poor job anyways. The team hothead trying to lead everyone? Raph can barely lead _himself,_ let alone multiple people. They all know that, Raph best of all.)

After over a month of this, the isolation, the stonewalling, and the _boredom_ of being at least mildly miserable almost every moment of the night- Raph is worn down, admittedly. Even if it’s still there, still simmering and shifting under everything else, just like always, not even he can remain angry 24/7. Though majority thoughts of his brothers crossing his mind still manages to spark a fair amount of annoyance, even with time stretching between their disappearance and the present evening.

It’s been well over a month since Mikey and Donnie left, _abandoned_ them, and Raph has started to notice thick dust gathering in their rooms. The familiar scents that their bedrooms held before are fading into nothing; becoming just musty, the same scent the rest of the lair has. If any more time passes, Raph wonders if he’ll even be able to remember properly what their rooms are supposed to be like.

Part of him wonders if they have new bedrooms, now. If those bedrooms are anything like the four essentially identical stone rooms they’d lived in their entire lives. If their rooms are bigger, or smaller, or even made of stone at all. For the most part, Raph hopes his brothers have terrible new living quarters, and are suffering through damp and dank conditions that make them rightly miserable for running away.

(And how quick would their health take a turn, living like that? How likely is an unsecure location to be discovered by the wrong people? Those are just two of the hundreds of worst paths for this to take and Raph buries them under the anger, along with any desire for his brothers to come home.)

After a brief look in on Leo’s condition of the night- again, sitting in front of their father’s altar, somewhere between meditation and being completely checked out from reality- and Raph decides that between his brother’s listless mood and the as usual unappetizing food in the fridge, he might as well just head out for the next seven or eight hours

If he’s up and moving, it’s less likely that his chest will tighten or his hands will start to tremble slightly. If Raph has something to _do_ , something that occupies his thoughts and body both, then it’s like there’s nothing different about his life. If he’s out searching for someone to pick a fight with, or lurking in the presence of the two remaining people who will tolerate him, or checking on his pigeon flocks, then Raph is fine. He’s a perfectly functional, if somewhat lonely, person. He just has to keep himself busy until he’s tired out enough sleep is possible, and he can collapse for a few hours before his mind antagonizes him awake again.

He kind of feels like shit for using those methods, running himself ragged so he can sleep almost dreamlessly, but the burden of achy limbs and occasional headaches is worth it. And it’s not like he really has anyone to spar with anymore- it’s _boring_ fighting one person over and over, and Leo doesn’t even want to spar these days- or even his punching dummy to beat up, seeing as its shredded remains were taken out in the trash weeks ago.

So, spending the bulk of the night roaming is the only remaining solution.

It’s better than giving into the urge to just curl up in his bedroom, leave the lights off and his phone as well, and just not get up at all.

If it wasn’t for Chompy complaining loudly about his routine being interrupted and his meals being _late,_ Raph almost does, some nights.

His pet has been fed and walked already, so Raph leaves the lair without guilt for doing so. He’ll spend the hours it takes to fall asleep after sunrise playing with Chompy, which will satisfy the tortoise’s energy levels after napping most of the night in Raph’s absence. And with that tether in place, to eventually draw Raph back into the echoing halls of his home, he climbs into the seat of the Stealth Bike and starts it up, driving out of the lair’s garage with a dull roar. The automatic doorway out of the tunnels still works, opening as Raph approaches it, but it’s at a slower rate than it used to. He thinks, somewhere in the noise of the bike’s engine, that the doors might be making an unpleasant screeching sound as they pull upwards.

But Donnie isn’t here to fix the sound, and Raph doesn’t know any more about how to fix it than he did before his brother left. So he leaves it be, and hopes it’ll still work when he comes home.

Cruising the streets, Raph figures he’ll take the Stealth Bike to the far edges of their territory. He’s planning on paying Slash a visit anyway, and the Mutanimals’ hideout is enough of a distance from the lair Raph feels warranted in bringing the bike. Close to a half hour of lazy driving later and Raph leaves the Stealth Bike in an alley and takes to the rooftops; setting out for his solo patrol.

As is the trend lately, there’s hardly anyone out causing trouble. Even with Karai keeping her influence out of their turf, it still leaks in. Things between gangs are downright _civil_ these days, what with almost all of them either paying tribute to the Foot, or outright being taken over by Raph’s half-sister. What’s left over for Raph are petty criminals, unaffiliated and sometimes just sad to beat up.

Raph doesn’t like taking a fist to someone who’s doing something out of desperation instead of malice; it sits uncomfortably in him the hours afterwards, the greyness of the conflict leaving more to think on than he’d want. And thinking is something he’s trying to avoid.

If Karai didn’t have _April_ settled into the ranks of the Foot, Raph would be tempted to go looking for a job with them. But, since he and April are on the far opposite of speaking terms, Raph thinks he’ll just keep on resenting Karai for stealing all the good fights.

Thinking of April makes Raph think of Casey, which causes a bolt of hurt to go right through him, which resurrects the hot pain connected with Mikey and Donnie’s abandonment, and Raph is forced to call his largely uneventful patrol to escape it all. Returning to the Stealth Bike, he decides to go see Slash. They’re not… back to how it’d been, before all this, but Raph doesn’t find himself yelling at his friend as much as he did at the beginning.

It’s not ideal, but Slash is the only person besides Murakami who’ll talk with him most nights. And while the blind chef is a good friend, Murakami is human and old as hell. Slash is closer in age to Raph… kind of. Its close enough, and Slash had the same origins as Raph; a pet turned into a person. It’s stifled in moments, with their loyalties still diverging, which both hurts and inspires tooth gritting fury, but it’s tolerable for the sake of company.

Slowing his bike in front of an entrance to the hideout, Raph waits for the subtle bleep of the camera to recognize his presence, alert someone inside, and for that someone to open the door. Another few seconds, during which Raph drums his fingers irritably against the handles of the Stealth Bike, and finally someone unlocks the reinforced blast door.

After the Shredder broke in and totaled their old hideout, the Mutanimals went all out with the design of their next one. Similar enough to the first that they could pirate surviving parts and adapt them, but with all the holes in their security patched airtight. Most of the reused materials don’t even smell like ash anymore.

Raph remembers how, during the weeks of the move, he and his brothers and their friends had all pitched in to help every way they could. It’d been something to focus on, something to distract them from the absence of Splinter in their lives. Often, it’d been easier to just crash on a lumpy couch than it was to go home.

Raph doesn’t miss those weeks, but he does miss having something physical and straight forwards to do.

He leaves the Stealth Bike pushed to the far side of the back entry, which had been a loading dock before the warehouse’s conversion. Taking care at first to make sure he doesn’t cross paths with Leatherhead as he wanders inwards, Raph shakes himself of the reflex and walks confidently. He’d _welcome_ a chance, finally, to just take the croc on and put an end to how Leatherhead circles him when he’s in the hideout; watching, subtly threatening…

Why can’t people just pick a fight instead of drawing things out? Raph would welcome both Leatherhead _and_ his brothers just coming straight out to say what the hell their deal is. Give him a clear _explanation_ already.

Mikey still hasn’t answered a single text, even following Raph asking what Casey’s comment of abuse was supposed to mean. Raph hates his brother for that, hates _everyone_ for that.

Just. _Explain_ , plain and honest, and pick the god damn _fight_ with him already. That’s what he wants from people, so this can all just be _over_ with.

Raph hasn’t gotten that yet, no matter what angle he tries to get a rise out of his siblings. It’s more than enough to get a rise out of _him_ instead.

Raph brushes those thoughts aside, coming out of the hallway and into the open main room. Slash is there, alone, and Raph is both offended and grateful for that. Dr Rockwell avoids him as much as Mondo does, following Leatherhead’s lead. Which, ironically, is like what April and Casey are doing with Raph’s siblings. Even though neither Leatherhead nor Mikey and Donnie are the leaders of their teams, people are still following them instead of their real leaders: Leo and Slash.

It’s all very frustrating, _extremely_ so, and Raph has gone over the facts of it plenty times already. He chooses, instead of dwelling the umpteenth time on the behavior of everyone else, to engage in a conversation with Slash.

They don’t actually have a ton to speak about, having very few intersections of interests, but still. It’s _conversing,_ with another real person, and Raph is so done with trying that with Leo. Let Leo drag himself back to functioning like a normal person, and _then_ Raph will start spending time around his brother again.

Let _all_ his brothers come crawling back, eventually, and maybe, _maybe_ he’ll let things return to normal with minimal punishment for this bullshit.

And, as the saying goes, _speak of the devil…_

…and he shall appear.

The clatter of a skateboard isn’t out of place, with Mondo Gecko living here, but Raph still checks over his shoulder, to identify the cause of the board being dropped and evaluate if it’s anything to be concerned about. It’s just _habit,_ ground into him by mistake after mistake of not being observant enough of his surroundings. Better safe than sorry.

The eyes Raph meets are not brown with green sclera.

They’re blue on white, and wide as Raph’s are going.

For the first time in well over a month - Raph sees his little brother.

Who looks like he’s been cornered by an enemy, and not simply spotted by his seriously worried brother.

Mikey takes a step back.

Raph finally gets his mouth to open, and manages to say, “Mikey?”

His brother turns and starts running.

“ _Mikey!”_

 

 

 

Raph chases Mikey, but-

He never even gets close to catching him.

Mikey, as Raph had somehow forgotten, is _good_ at escaping. Good at outrunning and outwitting opponents when they’re on his tail. Without even so much as a glance back, Mikey darts through the patches of light from overhanging streetlights in the alleys. Raph follows, hopping over trash and broken glass, and even as he pushes and pushes and _pushes_ himself, the gap between him and his brother never shortens.

“Mikey! _MIKEY!”_  Raph yells, and he can’t even spare a thought for how they’re drawing attention to themselves, alerting every person with working ears nearby they’re here- all he can think of is catching Mikey and never letting him go again. But- Mikey keeps getting further and further away, feet barely seeming to touch the ground as he sprints, and- _why_ , why is he _running-_

 _“Just wait a second,”_ Raph pleads, shouting across the distance Mikey keeps increasing, “where are you _going?!”_

His brother doesn’t even look backwards at him.

The chase is scarcely more than a few seconds, maybe a minute at the most- and then Raph’s vision is blinded by a smokescreen exploding in his path. He inhales sharply, surprised by one of their best defenses turned on _him,_ and chokes as he’s forced to jump backwards from it. By the time it’s clear enough he can look around without watering eyes, and has stopped hacking up his lungs-

Mikey is long gone.

Raph doesn’t even spare time to let his throat recover from the smoke, sucking in a breath and bellowing for Mikey to come back.

The only other movement around him is the dissipating smokescreen, wisps drifting off into the night wind and leaving Raph alone in the alley.

Raph turns in a circle, eyes skittering from one possible path to the next- he’s still yelling for Mikey, on autopilot with his words, trying to multitask figuring out which direction his brother might have gone-

“ _MIKEY! MIKEY WHERE ARE YOU?”_ he demands, and Raph- can’t tell, can’t pick a rooftop out of the buildings around him his brother might have chosen, or a manhole he could have dropped into, or- _anything,_ he doesn’t know which of any of the options Mikey could have chosen. Raph just _doesn’t know-_

A window of a worn down apartment complex shunts open, a human woman sticking her head out to likely shout at Raph to shut the hell up. Her words clearly die in her throat as she gets a look at Raph below; expression blanching and mouth twisting into something between horrified disgust and outright fear.

For a split second, Raph’s whole body locks up at one of the most fundamental rules of his existence being broken: _don’t ever be seen by humans._

The woman screams, and Raph jolts out of his frozen terror. His head and body alight with fear and stinging shame, Raph rushes to find a puddle of darkness and vanish from sight. Firmly swept up in the instinct to _flee,_ Raph scales a fire escape faster than he can even properly process, and books it across four rooftops before he can stop himself. It’s only there that he can throw his shell against an AC unit, sides heaving and thoughts whirling.

With barely a glance around, he knows he hasn’t picked the same escape Mikey did from him. The roofs of the buildings around him are completely barren of life or movement, and Raph is alone with the extremely unnerving experience of being _seen_ and the knowledge of having _let his brother get away._

As intangible as the smokescreen had been, Raph’s brother has just slid from his grasp a second time, without a single word as to _why_.

Shaken, by both his brother running away _again_ and being seen by an ordinary human- Raph inhales, ignores the way part of his brain is devolving into static, and starts running again.

He does a loose, sloppy circle of where Mikey disappeared. Raph can’t manage more than that; he already knows it’s too late. Mikey has already no doubt fled the scene, and is again lost in the urban wilds of New York. There’s no convenient trail to pick up, no clues which direction Mikey came from in the first place- there’s _nothing,_ not even a telltale slip of noise that Mikey inevitably always makes.

At some point, Mikey mastered stealth without Raph noticing, and it’s distinctly ironic that he’s learning of the accomplishment in this way.

As Raph gives up the search, he lets a violent sweep of fury cascade over him. He has no hope of finding Mikey like this, not without a significant amount of luck and a coordinated team effort. And that pre-emptive failure _burns_ in Raph, bringing back to life the smoldering coals of hurt and anger that have been with him since the first night, and the flames of those coals flare high and scorching.

He’s _angry,_ Raph is _furious-_ how _dare_ Mikey do that, _why_ would he do that- none of it makes sense and that’s just _so_ Mikey, never listening properly, always screwing up everything, a constant unending _annoyance_ that just won’t _shut up_ or stop bothering Raph and pushing him _right over the edge_ over and over and _over-_

 _Why_ did he run? Why in hell after over a _month_ of hiding and ignoring them would Mikey just- turn tail without a word and sprint like his life depended on it? It doesn’t make sense, Raph’s two brothers abandoning him doesn’t make sense, their friends turning one by one on him doesn’t make sense, _none of it makes any fucking sense at all-_

Raph storms back into the Mutanimals’ hideout, taking the most direct route back to his bike. Slash, briefly, tries to talk to him as he passes through- Leatherhead emerging from an adjacent hallway to the main room and _looking_ at Raph, eyes following him, _accusing him-_ and Raph snaps at Slash almost immediately, nerves shot and temper out of control.

Raph ignores his friend’s calls after him, ducking his head and marching to the back exit where the Stealth Bike is. He doesn’t want company right now, _certainly_ not from people who’ve been aiding and abetting his brothers in their ridiculous fucking runaway scheme.

He slams the button to lift the blast doors, and Raph kicks the Stealth Bike into gear barely after getting into its seat. With _just_ enough room to fit, he drives out the still opening doors and lets the engine join the roar inside his head.

Raph drives aimlessly, mad at Mikey, mad at the _world-_ mad at _himself,_ for not being quick enough, for failing to grab hold of his little brother and _demand_ a real explanation for all this instead of _one shittily written note._

But it’s not his fault, _Mikey_ _and_ _Donnie_ are the ones who came up with the plan to run away, _they’re_ the ones who’ve been keeping their family divided, _they’re_ the ones who’ve caused all this drama and worry and frankly fucking ridiculous situation as a whole. And Raph is _beyond_ furious now, _beyond_ willing to forgive being ignored and hidden from for over a _month_ , and when he gets his hands on his brothers, on _Mikey_ for this latest stunt, he’ll- he’ll-

_“Raph… you ever notice how much you hit Mikey?”_

Raph nearly drives through a red light, skidding to a stop just short of hitting late night traffic driving by. His arms are trembling from how hard he’s gripping the bike’s handles, and the constricting force around his chest is steadily returning.

It’s not like that, Raph doesn’t know what his brothers told Casey, but it’s _not like that._ He loves them, they’re his only family, he’d do just about anything to keep them safe- _how_ can he be abusive? Casey is wrong, it’s not like that, he wouldn’t _ever-_

A car honks angrily behind him, and Raph snaps back into reality; gunning the Stealth Bike forwards again and taking off in a different direction. He’s barely aware that he’s driving further and further from his roaming grounds, too caught up in the unyielding storm of emotions and thoughts in his head.

He needs- something physical to hit, something to clear away everything roiling in him. There’s _got_ to be somewhere to find a good fight, Karai might be scary but she’s not omnipresent. Someone in this city is bound to be still fighting against her, and Raph is determined to find that someone.

 _Anything_ to distract him from his thoughts, from failing yet again, from _Mikey_ -

It’s after a long smear of time and streets, Raph rides past a warehouse that’s got one too many cars parked around it to be empty. He pulls off the main street quick as he can, quieting the engine and sliding out from under the bike’s overhang. He’s ended up towards the docks, the not too distant scent of sea water permeating the air. The perfect area for illegal overseas trading.

Raph climbs up the side of the nearest building, leaving the camouflaged Stealth Bike behind a large dumpster. Its rookie level stealth to get on top of the warehouse and Raph doesn’t second guess himself for being suspicious of it; no one who _legitimately_ works around here can afford cars that nice.

And peering through the murky skylight, Raph makes out a few dozen men and women in expensive looking suits. They’re not with Don Vizioso, though. Raph knows that gang only recruits Italians or whites; the people below are all Asian, and he’s pretty sure the fragments of voices making it through the glass are in Mandarin.

No visible markers for who they’re affiliated with, which is a tip off they’re higher up than average gangbangers. The more power you wield, the less you need to advertise it. The people who actually need to know who you are _will,_ and whoever doesn’t probably will take less than a swat to get rid of.

A flash of abnormal green catches Raph’s eye, and his attention is drawn to what’s been set out on the table for trade negotiations. It only takes a split second to identify the items as one of the most unpredictable and dangerous substances in existence: _mutagen._

The figure looming over the table, arms crossed and single eye trained on the woman he’s speaking with, is the second abnormality to the scene. Now dressed in a suit, bespoke and stark black, is an individual that haunts Raph’s memories as often as any of their most dangerous enemies.

_Tigerclaw._

The skylight shatters under Raph’s feet, and he plummets down onto the stacks of shipping crates. He’s got a war cry ripping out of his throat before he’s even consciously made the choice to attack.

Tigerclaw spots him immediately, hand going to draw the gun no doubt hidden under his suit jacket- and Raph stops him from shooting by grabbing the nearest well-dressed grunt and tossing him right at the other mutant. Tigerclaw raises his arms to catch the unconventional attack and Raph uses the seconds of distraction to grab the lip of the table and upend the cases of mutagen.

Instantly everyone scatters, sharp cries of warning about the few canisters that have cracked in the fall. Raph is used to avoiding dangers like a mutagen spill, and takes advantage again of the chaos to attack Tigerclaw- drawing his sais in a fluid movement as he immediately brings them up to stab through Tigerclaw’s stomach.

Unfortunately, even though the tiger mutant prefers long range attacks, Tigerclaw is no slouch with hand to hand combat, and stops Raph’s jab before his sai’s tip can even put a run in the jacket. Raph disengages, avoiding risk of being pulled into a lock by the stronger mutant.

With small mutagen puddles spreading across the concrete around them, Raph has to put half his focus into keeping away from the toxic swirling green. Tigerclaw growls at him, feet apart in a defensive position and already starting to stalk around Raph.

“ _Whelp,”_ Tigerclaw hisses, drawing his gun and putting a claw on the trigger.

“Cat scat,” Raph taunts, and spins his sais with exaggerated casualness. “I thought we already kicked your stubby excuse for a tail enough that you’d finally fucked off.”

“I am not so easily intimidated by a group of teenagers still wet behind the ear,” his opponent snaps, and Raph gives a feral grin.

“Last I remembered, we killed the _Shredder,_ who was your boss and the most powerful dickhead around these parts.” Raph follows Tigerclaw’s example, stalking a circle around the mutagen spills and keeping Tigerclaw as far from his person as possible. “So, I don’t know about you,” Raph sneers, almost high on the return to this, _this,_ the feeling of life or death fights and _purpose,_ “but that sounds like a damn good reason to be intimidated.”

Tigerclaw curls his whiskered lips, revealing thick fangs in his mouth. He raises a single hand, and the collection of humans having drawn guns as well stop where they stand; Raph hadn’t even noticed them getting into position, too focused on the fight with Tigerclaw.

“Why have you come to aggravate me like this?” Tigerclaw asks.

“Because you’re an evil douchebag who deserves a beatdown any time, for any reason,” Raph snarls, their last battles surfacing from his memories- as clear as they’d been in the moment, Tigerclaw, ever the second in command of Shredder’s mutant soldiers, standing at his psycho boss’s side right up until the end of their conflict.

Tigerclaw had a hand in Splinter’s murder. Every single one of the mutants working for him did. And while Raph only really got the chance to tear into one of them- fucking _Xever-_ his hate of those men turned mutants hasn’t diminished in the slightest.

“This has nothing to do with you or yours,” Tigerclaw says calmly, and Raph always hated the condescending tone he has when he speaks. “This is simply business, and no business of yours.”

“You’re trading _mutagen,_ so that makes it my business,” Raph fires back. He can’t even imagine how many awful things could be done with mutagen, if it got weaponized by the right people. Like it was by _Shredder._ “You don’t get to sell it off like this and not have me showin’ up to remind you this is _our_ turf, since we made it damn clear we don’t tolerate this shit. So be smart about this: hand over the mutagen, and slink back to whichever old lady’s house you came from, pussy cat.”

Tigerclaw regards him with his single yellow eye, then moving it to examine the warehouse around them. And with a toothy sneer, he lets out a low chuckle.

“No, I do not think I will be doing that,” Tigerclaw says, withdrawing the gun he’d been training on Raph and holstering it under his jacket again. Raph feels the slight, the obvious message that Tigerclaw doesn’t think he’s _worth_ the firearm; it makes him bare his teeth, almost wishing for fangs like the tiger mutant. “Unless your brothers and friends are hiding in the shadows, waiting to jump out in surprise- and if they are, by all means.” He sweeps a hand out at the shadows of the warehouse. “Please make this interesting instead of laughable. Raphael, what threat are you to myself and my associates, all on your own?”

Raph snaps, “ _Plenty,_ asshole,” but feels a weight of sudden dread dawn on him.

He _is_ alone, and no one even knows where he is. Tigerclaw meanwhile has two dozen humans on his side and a track record that puts him down as someone they always needed at least a tag team to face. Raph abruptly revaluates his odds, and swallows thickly.

“I am sure,” Tigerclaw says sarcastically, and turns a look over his shoulder, addressing the humans surrounding them both. “Clean up this mess,” Tigerclaw instructs calmly, reaching into the opposite side of his jacket and drawing a large knife. “I will deal with our uninvited guest myself.”

And with a speed that’s unexpected from someone his size, Tigerclaw crosses the short distance between himself and Raph- knife aimed to rip through Raph’s throat, and barely missing as he dodges the swift attack.

But even if the situation is getting close to completely out of Raph’s control- at least he gets to have _this,_ the surge of adrenaline as a familiar and craved scenario plays out for him. _It’s you or me, life or death, no holds barred-_ the kind of fight that Raph experienced every time he fought the Foot in the later stages of their war. And it’s something he hasn’t been able to figure out how to replicate, the sensation of fighting someone with every ounce of strength and skill he possesses and the intent to maim or even _kill._

Petty criminals have nothing on this, sparring is paltry in comparison- this is _living;_ it’s how Raph life is _supposed_ to be. The rush of coming so close to death and surviving anyway, burning through whole nights by dedicating every waking moment to beating the odds. It’s a purpose, a goal, a thrill that electrocutes his entire nervous system and brings everything into crystal clarity, aching simplicity where nothing is confusing or painful.

_Fight._

_Or die._

No other rules, and it’s glorious for that.

Except. He’s losing, steps faltering, dodges and blocks growing sloppy. Raph hasn’t ever fought Tigerclaw on his own, he’s always had someone to back him up- he’s a great fighter, a skilled ninja, but Tigerclaw is twice his age and has experience Raph is only just garnering. And he’s _huge_ compared to Raph, battering him with blows when Raph’s guard slips and a fist makes it through. A tiger and man’s strength doubled on itself, mutagen creating a monster perfect for killing.

Raph is the same, has both human and animal DNA- but his base is a _turtle_ , not a human and _tiger,_ and he doubts there’s a single tale in the entirety of the world of a turtle ever besting two of the most fearsome predators alive.

They only ever won when they were all together, him and his brothers. Alone… they’re as good as easy prey.

Raph realizes, as he miscalculates a dodge and receives a kick to the sternum for it, that he’s possibly bitten off more than he can chew.

He skids across the concrete floor, barely able to flip onto his feet again as Tigerclaw bears down on him. His sais clang against the wide blade of Tigerclaw’s knife, and he feels immediately that the diverted path of the attack won’t be enough. Raph twists, trying to escape the blow, but still feels steel bite into his scales along the length of his forearm. His wrappings soak up the bleed, but some of them come apart; the slice having gone through them as well.

Directly following that, Tigerclaw continues his attack by slashing upwards diagonally- nearly taking out Raph’s eye, and putting a sizable gash in his cheek. Raph cries out in pain, blinded by the blood, and can’t clear his sight in time to avoid the fist coming towards him.

Raph’s flat nose makes a sound it shouldn’t, and his world shorts out for a moment. Pure blackness in his vision and mind both, accompanied by agony.

It’s only by sheer luck and instinct he manages to duck the next attack- letting his weak knees give out and narrowly saving himself from having a knife buried in his throat. Raph retreats backwards, still half blind and dizzy, and manages to parry Tigerclaw’s knife well enough he doesn’t end up immediately dead.

But- with one eye turned into a blind spot- he doesn’t see the claws of his opponent’s right hand.

Tigerclaw swapped the knife from his dominate hand without Raph noticing.

Claws gouge Raph’s shoulder, and rip from the base of his neck outwards. Raph _howls,_ feeling his flesh tear all the way down his shoulder. Naturally, his enemy doesn’t waste the chance to kick Raph once again across the floor.

This time, Raph goes down hard, and can’t get his feet under him in time.

A hand gets a crushing grip around his neck, and Raph- _dropped his sais at some point, oh_ fuck _-_ digs his nails into the wrist of his attacker, defiant still, but is deterred from the weak assault by a heavy blow to his face.

Raph feels himself choking, and the butt of Tigerclaw’s knife doing half the work of pummeling him into a green smear. His vision cuts in and out, and his attempts to disengage the huge fingers around his neck are all but ignored.

After the seventh blow, Raph’s consciousness blacks out, and he feels himself go limp just before that.

For a long moment he’s not even aware of, there is only darkness.

Then, his lungs find the air they desperately need, and he feels himself hit the ground as Tigerclaw drops him.

Raph curls up, choking and bleeding. He struggles to get his bearings, the instinct to _run hide get away get away **get away**_ pulsing in his already pounding skull.

“-ld have thought after Montes had such trouble with you, you would put up a better fight,” Tigerclaw is saying, standing over Raph as he forces himself most of the way to his feet.

Raph’s eyes can’t focus, and he can barely manage to meet eyes with Tigerclaw as his whole world sways.

The older mutant regards him coldly, and sneers.

“ _Pathetic.”_

Raph wraps his arms around himself, crossing them over his cartilage covered stomach and belt.

Tigerclaw reaches for him, claws extended on one hand and knife held readily in the other.

Raph feels his fingers brush the shells of what he’s looking for.

As Tigerclaw looms, Raph throws down his very last smoke bombs.

 

 

 

Without Donnie around to make more, Raph figured he should be conservative with his smokescreen attacks for the time being.

How lucky he is for deciding that.

Raph’s right arm is almost useless, and so is his left eye as it starts swelling. With only his right eye to see, scrubbed of blood from the still bleeding gash on his cheek, he hauls ass from the smoke filled warehouse he left behind.

Tigerclaw isn’t chasing him, he doesn’t think. Maybe because he has better things to do than hunt down the lone intruder who barely put up a fight.

Raph doesn’t think he even managed to land a decent hit on Tigerclaw, and that stings as much as his injuries do.

Ducking down, retreating underground, Raph’s slick fingers struggle to pull the manhole cover away as he disappears into the sewers. He can’t spare time to go back for the Stealth Bike, and like this he’d probably crash it anyway. Best he can do is just put as much distance between him and Tigerclaw as possible and pray it’ll be enough.

He’s bleeding, badly, and he dropped his weapons in the fight. The only option left is to retreat as fast and thoroughly as possible, and call for help.

As he runs, Raph realizes woozily that everything is getting a lot more distant feeling all of a sudden.

He doesn’t notice he’s falling until he catches himself against the tunnel wall, and then ripping himself away from it as overwhelming agony flares from his right arm. The long claw marks have coated his whole arm in tacky red, which fills Raph’s senses with even _more_ blood stench; his bloody, possibly broken nose dripping down his chin, his other, smaller knife wounds- _everything_ smells like blood and Raph is acutely aware he needs to get help _now._

Raph sees another manhole just up ahead, and he hopes wherever he emerges it won’t be into worse danger.

It’s even harder to climb out of the sewers than it had been to climb in. Raph’s whole body is _begging_ him to stop moving, but he _can’t,_ he could possibly, literally _die_ if he does. When he finally gets the manhole cover off, Raph claws his way up and out, coming to realize he’s in the middle of a road adjacent to a larger one. No one is driving by, thank fucking god, and he kicks the cover back into place as he hightails it for the nearest dark alley. A glance at the street signs is all he needs before the next step.

Raph struggles to extract his phone, using his left hand instead of his right. The screen smears with blood as he stumbles to a wall of the alley and collapses against it; fingers clumsily finding the contact he needs.

Shoving his phone against his left ear slit, Raph forces his thoughts to recollect themselves. He needs to stay aware, even though shock is setting in. He needs to be ready to run, even if he can’t muster more energy than staying conscious right now. He… he needs to…

_“Raph? Hello?”_

Raph jolts back into reality, dangerously close to passing out in the filthy alley all alone and still bleeding.

“-h-hey, Leo,” Raph gasps out, voice rasping as his throat aches. He hasn’t been able to check, but thick bruising has probably already started. “I think- I think I need s-some help here.”

“ _What? Raph, what’s going on? Are you okay?”_

Raph coughs, feeling the disgusting sensation of blood go down the back of his throat. His whole body is wracked with another wave of pain for the jerky movements, enough that Raph’s vision goes spotty for a moment too long.

“ _Raph- Raph answer me. What’s going on? What happened?”_

Raph, for some reason, somehow, lets out a ragged laugh.

“Got myself into a bit of a mess, Leo… Think you could come bail me out? I think. I’m p-pretty sure… I’m gonna need a lotta st-stitches after this one…”

It’s kind of ironic.

Raph’s spent all these weeks worrying it’d be his little brothers bleeding out in some nameless alleyway, all alone in their injured state…

And here he is, fulfilling that prophecy himself.

 

 

 

Raph fades in and out, even with Leo ordering him to stay awake.

Everything is murky and pain filled, getting steadily worse even as the bleeding of his arm and face slows. But even though it’d slowed, the wounds are still wide open for germs to infect as he lies slumped in the alley. If Raph had energy for worrying about infection, he would, but he doesn’t. Even the filth he knows is already smeared into the wounds can’t get him to wake up fully.

At some point, the phone slips from his hand and even Leo’s voice deserts him.

Raph is very, very alone for a period of time.

It terrifies him, breaking through the dim blanket of shock that’s settled over him. He’s alone and he’s bleeding and he very well could _die._

He’s never been so alone. Why would his brothers leave him to be so alone?

It hurts. Everything hurts.

Even the touch of someone getting their arms around him, gentle and careful as they may be, _hurts._ And Raph, reacting on instinct, hisses and lashes out. He’s _hurting_ and he’s _vulnerable,_ but he _will not let someone kill him without a fight-_

“Raph, _Raph,_ it’s me, it’s Leo- Raph calm down it’s _just me,”_ says the person trying to get a hold of him, stronger than Raph is right now, _dangerous_ so long as Raph is weak and injured and _alone-_

“It’s gonna be okay, c’mon, just wake up and look at me. Raph. Raph, look at me. I’m here, I’m- I’m right here. I’m gonna get you somewhere safe now.”

Raph is blearily aware of being stood up, of having someone take almost all his weight and urging him forwards. Into a vehicle, a yellow van- the effort to get into the passenger seat _agonizing_ as it jars his wounds and makes his head swirl sickeningly. The door is slammed shut soon as he’s in, and not a moment later the driver’s door opens and Leo rushes to climb inside.

“Just hold on until we get home,” Leo is saying, but it’s distant, hard to understand the words as they leave his mouth in a flurry. “Stay with me, okay? I’ll- I’ll heal you, soon as we get out of this place. Just hold on until then. I promise, I _promise_ you’ll be okay.”

Raph barely understands the words, everything fading out of focus again.

He thinks, maybe, he responds once or twice on the way. He doesn’t know what questions he’s answering, or what he’s even saying, but he knows he’s _talking,_ probably. Leo drives like a maniac the whole way, that much Raph is sure of.

 

 

 

Raph wakes up again as Leo pulls him from the Party Wagon, choking on a scream as his right arm flares back to life with fireworks of agony.

“Sorry! Oh fuck- I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just- lean on me, I’ll hold you up,” Leo says, getting an arm around Raph’s shell and putting Raph’s non-fucked up arm over his shoulders. They stumble up the steps of the lair’s entrance together, and Raph tries to not keel over and puke from the pain wracking him.

Somehow, they make it into the dojo, and Raph is allowed to just slump against the wall finally. The journey from the van to the dojo has reopened his injuries, which have left a small red trail from the entrance to where Raph now sits, and the drips around him just keep multiplying.

Is he going to die from losing this much blood? Leo lost a shit ton of blood and still pulled through, that one time. But- that was with _Donnie_ working on him, and Donnie isn’t-

“-here, here drink this,” Leo is saying, abruptly in front of Raph and holding out a cup of water. “Fluids, while I- uh, figure out where to start.”

Raph’s left hand is covered in his own blood as he takes the cup.

His throat feels horribly dry as he drains it, and it soothes a miniscule factor to how much pain he’s in currently. As he lowers the cup again, setting it aside and feeling his clumsy fingers knock it over, Raph notices finally that Leo is doing a series of hand gestures and visibly concentrating, mumbling under his breath the whole time.

A few seconds pass, and Leo’s hands seem to start trembling a little as they hover over the worst of Raph’s shoulder wounds. Mouth forming a tight line for a split second, Leo repeats the gestures and mutters the poetic sounding words a second time.

Again, nothing happens. Raph realizes finally that Leo is trying to accomplish the healing hands thing their father did, practiced a few times around them before his death.

“No, _no,”_ Leo mutters, and goes through the motions and chant again. All that happens is him bumping the edge of Raph’s torn flesh and causing Raph to hiss and draw away.

“It’s not working, _why isn’t it working?”_ Leo says desperately, repeating the hand motions in rapid succession and saying the words and again getting _nothing._

“Leo,” Raph rasps.

“I- it’s supposed to work, I’ve done it before, _it’s supposed to work why won’t it work-_ ”

 _“Leo!”_ Raph snaps, shutting his brother up. “Get the fuckin’ _kit.”_

“They’re supposed to work,” Leo repeats in a hollow voice, staring at Raph with eyes that don’t seem to quite see reality. “Raph, something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, I’m _bleeding out._ Get the fucking _KIT.”_

Leo, finally, gets the fucking medical kit.

Last ounce of strength spent snapping his brother out of his panic, Raph slumps further against the wall and focuses on just _breathing_ for a while.

He almost counts himself lucky that he’s far enough gone to hardly feel the stitches.

It still hurts.

 

 

 

Leo keeps trying the healing hands trick, even after Raph gets his stitches in and is laid out on a futon in the dojo. They don’t have the knowledge of how much blood a mutant turtle can lose before he straight up dies, so Leo is refusing to leave Raph’s side for longer than it takes to go get more water and food. They go the rest of the night, the following day, and most of the second evening like so.

Even as Leo tries the healing hands again and again, Raph feels infection setting in. It was inevitable, the way he contaminated his injuries with just about every undesirable substance New York has to offer. His stitched flesh swells as his body fights the infection, causing them to weep blood and pus into the bandages and pull against the thread binding his scales.

It hurts, _everything_ hurts, and Raph is having trouble keeping a grip on his reality beyond that.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, it’s supposed to work,” Leo keeps saying, expression the same one he wore the night of Splinter’s death. The look of someone who’s lost ability to process his own life events, and is rapidly sinking into despair.

Raph is already starting to cough until he sees spots, and is in no shape to drag Leo back to his own sanity.

He tells himself he’ll do it later, when he kicks the infection to the curb and pulls himself out of bed finally.

 

 

 

“Raph, it’s not getting better,” Leo tells him as they redress the injuries. The scales pulled together by tight black stitches have turned a sickly color, fluids leaking from the wounds as they struggle to heal. Three nights in a row of this is a really bad sign, given that their accelerated healing should eat up any viruses before they can take root. “Look, we… we have to call-”

“ _No!”_ Raph snarls, trying to yank himself out of Leo’s gentle grip and actually _failing_ to, he’s so weak now. “They don’t want us, why should we want _them?”_

“Raph,” Leo starts, expression stricken.

“I said _no,”_ Raph growls. “They _abandoned us,_ so _fuck them._ We didn’t need them anyway. I’ll be fine. I just gotta-” He breaks off, coughing as his throat burns and sides heave. As the fit subsides, a faint wheeze accompanying the rasping inhales Raph takes, he turns a harsh look on his remaining brother.

“If they want to run away, then _fine,”_ Raph says, filled with all his frustration and anger that’s steadily warped into bitter hate. “They can just never come home at all, ‘cause I don’t want them here anymore. I just gotta sleep this off; we don’t need them, Leo. We never needed those assholes.”

Leo’s lips purse into a tight line, disagreement written all over his face. Raph ignores it, and tells his brother to just finish redressing his injuries.

Afterwards, as he lies on his futon and Leo reads distractedly on his, Raph is too tired to resist the draw of miserable feelings, and is pulled down into a shallow nap full of half-formed thoughts and memories.

They left, _they left,_ it’s their fault this happened and _they’re the ones who left…_ Raph doesn’t want his brothers back if they don’t want him, he doesn’t _need_ them anyway, he’ll be fine… even if he’s a little sick right now, he’ll be fine with a bit of rest…

He’s not lonely, he doesn’t miss them, Mikey and Donnie clearly don’t give a shit about them, and so Raph won’t give a shit, either.

They don’t want to come home. They don’t want to see Raph or Leo.

Far as Raph thinks now, they can _stay_ gone.

He doesn’t want them back.

He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t.

 

 

 

 

Raph feels the nights passing, but it’s all distant from him now. They have the bulk of their medical supplies still, but neither of them knows what to do with the more powerful drugs, or even which ones Raph needs to take.

Best Leo can do is offering Raph painkillers and cold medicine, trying to rid him of the swelling to his stitches and the cough rattling his chest. It all really fucking sucks, especially since even as a fourth night slides through Raph’s awareness, and all he can manage to do is sit up and eat unappetizing food.

He wants to believe he’s getting better. He wants to believe in his own ability to deal with this and get back on his feet without any problem.

Raph has to look away next time Leo helps him change his bandages. He’s not squeamish, but- his stitches, they look even worse than they did on the second night.

Raph spends almost all of the fourth night passed out, or close to being so. Everything is distant and difficult to grasp, and Raph wonders if he’s desperate enough yet to just start taking pills at random and hope for the best.

Leo doesn’t let him anyway, so.

Pointless, the whole attempt to unscrew the caps of the bottles before they’re taken away.

Raph sleeps and tries to recover. He has little success, and the miserable presence of Leo nearby does nothing to help.

 

 

 

“It’s supposed to _work,_ why won’t it _work,”_ Leo cries to himself, somewhere in the hours Raph can’t even open his eyes all the way. Raph hears the words break off into sobs, and barely makes out the figure of his brother, leader, _Sensei_ curled on himself beside Raph’s futon- bent over folded knees and covering his head with his arms.

He parts his cracked lips, trying to summon energy to provide a semblance of comfort- _he doesn’t know why the healing hands aren’t working, doesn’t even know how they work to begin with, that all died with their father-_ but feels himself slipping back under even as Leo keeps crying to himself, disparaged by his inability to heal Raph with a wave of his hands and a few uttered sentences.

Time loses meaning.

Raph sleeps, waking enough to cough and feel _wretched_ , and keeps barely any food down at all.

 

 

 

“Raph, we’re going somewhere, okay? Just hold onto me, like last time.”

Raph is only semi-conscious as Leo hauls him off the futon, taking steps forwards on legs that just want to fold again. He can’t manage more than a mumbled agreement to follow along, and even that is belated as they make it down the steps from the dojo.

Somehow, Raph ends up in the passenger seat of the Party Wagon again. A comforter is immediately wrapped around him, and Raph keens in pain as the efforts disturb his injured arm.

“Sorry, I’m sorry- just bear with it, Raph,” Leo says, climbing into the driver’s side. “We’re getting help.”

That stirs Raph enough he can say, “ _No,_ not… not them, they… they _left us…”_

“I know,” Leo says, and his tone is quiet, pained. “But it’s not them, I promise.”

Raph is satisfied by that enough to slip back into his shallow sleep, escaping what is essentially a fever for a turtle and all the pain that it brings.

He feels the van moving, the rumble of its tires as they drive. It soothes him, a lull to counteract the tight ache coming from his face, shoulder, and arm. Raph slips further into the sleep that’s been consuming him for the past few nights, and it’s like sinking into a bottomless black pool.

It’s quiet. Tranquil. It’s better than he’s felt in _weeks,_ and maybe… he can just stay here, away from everything and everyone…

The door to his seat opens, bringing him back up to the surface of the black pool.

“Please, I know we fucked up somehow and you hate us, but _please,”_ Leo says, desperation in every word, “ _help him.”_

“Leo- Leo, _of course,”_ says someone, and it’s- April? “Get him out of the van, I’ll- I’ll make sure they have a bed ready. But- what _happened?_ ”

“Tigerclaw. Raph- he tried to take him on by himself, and-”

“ _Tigerclaw?_ I thought- you, tell Karai we’ve got a serious threat still in New York. I want his location _yesterday-_ ”

“Raph, I’m sorry, but I gotta move you again. Are you ready?”

 _“Nn,”_ Raph mumbles, and its _hurts_ to get out again, his comforter sliding to the ground as Leo holds him up. Raph has his eyes open as they walk, but the moving shapes of black all smear together dizzyingly. The only one not doing so is the one with silver and red on top of the black. _April,_ she’s here, and that means- no, Raph came to _her,_ not the other way around, otherwise why would they have been driving-?

Why is this place so _big,_ it takes forever for Raph to be allowed to collapse again, and every step is a fresh wave of either nausea or pain. He’s _tired,_ he wants to just _sleep,_ why are they keeping him awake if it _hurts_ so much-

“Gently,” someone says brusquely, and that’s- Karai, her tone and blurry shape becoming recognizable. “April, could you-?”

Raph feels himself suddenly get even lighter- he realizes, not even steps from the Party Wagon, his head had started to feel floaty, but not for the reason he thought- and is carried without his permission up onto a soft bed. The landing however jars his arm again, and an aborted cry escapes his throat.

“How long has he been like this?” Karai is asking, and there’s someone else- someone distinctly human bending over Raph and he _doesn’t know who they are-_

Light shines in his eyes as people move in and out of his vision, some in white, some in black, only one figure solid green-

“Since the second day,” Leo replies, and he’s further away than Raph wants him to be. “…it’s been six days, now.”

“Why didn’t you call-?” Karai starts to demand.

“He wouldn’t _let me!”_ Leo snaps, desperation back in his voice. “I tried to convince him and he said _no-_ ”

“He’s _clearly_ not in any state to make decisions about himself, Leo! What were you _thinking?”_

“I don’t know! I don’t fucking _know_ , okay?! I- I tried to heal him myself, and it- they’re not working, I don’t know what’s wrong but they’re not _working-”_

“Leo, my staff might be highly trained, and know how to treat specifically _my_ mutation- but we have _no idea_ how to treat Raph. Without Donnie we might give him something that’ll make it worse, or maybe even kill him. You have to call them.”

“…I… I know. But, Karai, what if they don’t-?”

Raph finally finds the strength surge upwards, more energy than he’s had since his fight with Tigerclaw coursing through him with the return of his fury.

“ _NO!”_ he shouts, startling the nurses away from him and drawing all eyes in the room. “They fucking _left us,_ I don’t need shit from Donnie! I’d rather _die-_ ”

“Raph _lie down,”_ April exclaims, coming close to the bed and starting to reach out to push him down again. Raph slaps her hands away, and doesn’t acknowledge the shock in April’s expression when he does.

“They _abandoned us,”_ Raph spits, vision going spotty again and arm burning all the way down to his fingertips. He’s barely done anything and he’s already panting for breath, energy sapping away again. “If they want- want to fuck off like that, then _let them._ I don’t want them if they don’t want me, so _fuck them,_ I don’t- I don’t _need_ any help, I’d rather die than le-let them-”

“Raph, you’re not thinking straight,” April tells him, and Raph would lash out at her again, but he can feel weight pressing down on him, a gentle but steadily growing force pushing him back down. He fights it every step of the way, even as his shoulder blares agony in his senses and he lets out a furious cry.

He’s pushed back onto the bed, but not by any easy means. April’s blanched face swims in Raph’s sight, and he sneers at her. _Let her_ feel guilty for that, for leaving him, too. He hates her as much as he does his brothers, and they all- they all deserve to worry as much as he did-

“I sent a text,” says a voice almost too quiet to hear, belonging to Shinigami, the shadow that follows Karai’s every step. “I have not gotten a reply yet, but I assume they will not make us wait. Leonardo, when they do I would advise you take over-”

The rest of her words are drowned out the noise in Raph’s head, the sickness infesting his body, and the bustle of nurses coming back to loom over him. Their hands- five fingers, human, they’re all _human-_ touching him, removing his bandages, eyes examining each part of him and cataloguing it and Raph _hates it_ , hates all of them, hates feeling like he’s finally on a dissection table and about to be cut into bits and pieces to be stored for later, scalpels slicing apart his body, cold eyes watching him writhe, forcing him into restraints and experiments and something _burrowing into his throat, stealing his mind_ -

“Raph, no, no it’s okay, calm down,” April says, entering his vision again. Her hand on his brow burns, the human temperature of everyone touching him _burns._ “We’re going to _help you,_ not hurt you. You don’t have to be scared.”

 And Raph _hates_ her, feeling a pulse of power come from her palm, and knowing exactly what she’s doing. Like this, he can’t stop her from influencing him, can’t stop the humans from _touching him_ like this, can’t stop Leo or Karai or fucking _Shinigami,_ she’s not even _related to them,_ from calling their brothers and begging Donnie to come home because Raph fucked up spectacularly, and it’s not fair, it’s _not fair-_

“I know, I know, but it’ll be okay,” April says, spreading another layer of cobwebs over Raph’s mind, pushing him closer to sleep.

“ _They left us,”_ Raph hisses, and that hurts, it’s hurt since the first night and it just _won’t stop._ “They- they _hate us-”_

“No they don’t,” April whispers, “I don’t think they ever could. They told me themselves. Raph- Raph there’s so much wrong with all of this, but they _love you_ , alright? And you love them. We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this.”

Behind her, Leo comes into view, wearing an expression that is practically _bleeding_ exhaustion and misery. With him comes Karai, her steely gaze for once softened into worry. In front of both of them, April’s blue eyes remain, and Raph hates that they’ve glossed over in a way he doesn’t think she deserves to let them.

April wraps him in another layer of thick psychic suggestion, replicating the feeling of driving in the Party Wagon. Raph feels himself receding from reality unwillingly, even though he wants to fend off the delicate touch swiping at his cheeks, catching the trails of wetness there.

Raph snarls wordlessly at all of them, hates _all of them,_ and fights against unconsciousness until he can’t anymore.

The bottomless black pool welcomes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> karmic justice.
> 
> don't quote me on anything- i'm making this up as i go and am 99% sure i haven't broken Too many laws of life or reality or canon with this chapter. or like, contradicted past chapters too badly. if i have, pls lemme have like two days of rest before you point out a mistake and force me into a frenzy to retcon it. i kind of hardly slept for two-ish weeks now and ended up with a cold for it.
> 
> uhhh.... also this fanfic has been entered into a reader's choice awards comp, and it'd mean a lot to me if y'all would go put in a good word for me with the votes. [here's a link to the post on my blog](https://onthespectrumwriting.tumblr.com/post/173494935118/tmntuniversalfanficcomp-rebloobcestshipper) that'll link you to the voting ballets.
> 
> thanks for reading? and for the continued support?? this fic means.... a whole fuckin lot to me. see you all hopefully sooner than later.

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know what your thoughts are in the comments below, please and thank you.


End file.
